floorpie

I’m going to a record-release party for Michelle Harding tonight. That should be of actual little interest to you unless you happen to be a fan; and if I were to post about every show I went to you’d have been slogging through years of old posts just to find one of any interest.

I’m trying to say I go to a lot of shows.

At any rate, Michelle is a friend of mine of a while now, with an amazing voice and an infectious spirit. She’s an all-around nice person even if she is Canadian. But that’s not the point. The point is that I’m going to this record release party, the art of which was taken almost entirely by me. Truth be told, I didn’t get the CD cover like I almost did, her “people” convinced her to choose a picture that was a bit more commercial. I did get the back cover, all of the inside pamphlet and the CD itself, though…so in many ways I count this as a victory.

It’s interesting, thinking of the very real possibility that dozens? hundreds? maybe more? people will be seeing and admiring my pictures. Granted, they will probably more be admiring that Michelle is pretty, but having captured that for a moment does somewhat make it mine, too, doesn’t it? Or not, maybe I’m just the monkey who pushed the shutter button, but the point is that I am that monkey. And that’s something.

Plus I’m just honored to be a part of something that is so important to a friend of mine.

Also, did I mention my pictures were on a CD?

It’s been nearly a month since I unceremoniously tripped over my mid-30’s. Honestly, I don’t feel at all different than the month before. In retrospect, I don’t feel differently from any other year.

Granted, I get out of breath a little faster than I used to and my right knee refuses to not hurt all the time and my hair is thinner than it used to be and my ankle is weaker after that bad sprain….but I don’t remember these slow transitions into decrepitude. To me it’s all been one and the same game.

I vaguely remember the lithe energetic body of a nubile pre-teen, but only in theory and not especially clearly.

What is the point? I dunno, some cliche about only being as old as you feel or something.

I was walking on the beach in Santa Barbara with my mom today. She was talking to me about my dad, and how he’s getting close to retirement age…but what would he do all day if he were to retire?

She went on to talk about how work has been his life for many years. How even when on vacation (like today), he still works, and how my mom has given up trying to stop him and instead tries to give him a couple of hours to toil away instead. Because he’s a perfectionist, and always tries to do what’s right, and has a sense of honor in what he does.

I can’t say that I measure up to all of these same characteristics, but I can say that a lot of these qualities also ring true in me, the apple not falling far from the tree. Case in point, as she was explaining all of this to me, I was checking my work email incessantly, responding only with “uh huh’s” every now and again. I’m confident that the various people I’ve gone on vacation with can attest to similar.

Note to self: make sure I have some other hobbies before I retire. Luckily I have the whole photography, guitar, wood working thing going for me at the moment. Hope it sticks.

I ask for very little in those I wish to spend my time with. Staggering beauty, intimidating intelligence, the ability to laugh at everything I do on even the faintest hint of humorous intent, and a communication style akin to a hilariously bawdy nobel laureate.

Nothing, really, no?

I find that communication, as the saying goes, is the most important thing. For me, it’s not even so much the content of said communication as much as it is the quality of the delivery. I want to want to talk for hours, I want to bark with unexpected laughter, I want to be challenged and to talk over one another. I want to be engaged.

I like the witty banter, you see.

The question, really, though, is whether I like the witty banter from the person I’m talking to, or if I like the opportunity to provide the witty banter myself. I think it’s a tad of both to be honest. If the other party can’t dish it, then they’re probably not getting the cleverness in the first place.

This is, of course, incredibly self-serving as it pre-supposes that I’m witty and clever in the first place. Perception is reality, though, and that’s my perception…of myself. Bah. To hell with the logic, I live primarily inside of my own head anyway.

Does everyone find the perfect balance in their counterpoint eventually, or do some things become less important as YOU do?

I don’t run into nearly enough weirdos these days. This blog used to be rife with anecdotes of interesting (to me) interactions with the slightly left of center. Now, though, it’s more likely thinly-veiled posts about my love life or job. And who cares to read about that?

I’ve decided that I’ve either gotten more conservative and therefore less likely to run in the company of those aberrant individuals I so truly enjoy observing…or I’m so accepting of oddity that it no longer phases me as much.

I’m voting for the second.