April 8th, 2002. Monday
 

    I got a new book on Saturday, in the section of discount reference books at Barnes and Noble on 7th ave. It's called "The Dictionary of Cliches." Or something like that. I think it's great fun. I wasn't sure if I wanted to buy it though. So I kept coming up with cliches in my head and said if the origin of these cliches was in there, I'd get the book. Curiously, there was another book close by called "Why We Say It" or something, and was also a book focusing on the origin of famous cliches. I wonder if one book sparked the other. Competition is the best motivator, isn't it? Anyway, the second book had a much more confident explanation on the origin of "getting down to brass tacks," but the first book seemed more scholarly, citing historical and literary origins, whereas the secodn book just sort of said this is how it is. Anyway, Caryn said I shouldn't have bought that book, because a)I use too many cliches already, and b) anyone trying to be a writer should steer clear of cliches like the plague. What does she know about nuthin'?

    So on Friday, the order of the day was a little guitar playing with my upstairs neighbor Rachel. Her band needs a new guitarist, and she invited me to audition. They apparently take this business pretty seriously. So naturally, I was all nervous. I'd seen her band last week, and was sort of impressed, and I thought it'd be fun to play again, so i said why not. She sort of railroaded me into it, actually. I was kind of unsure about it, then next thing I knew, she was like "So we'll see you Friday at 9, right?" So I had one night to learn a few of her songs. I must say, she's certainly capable of writing a mighty catchy tune. As I might've expected, the pre-audition process went something like this: Learn each song in about 6 minutes, rock out a few times to the particular song learned, then decide it can't be that simple, try to come up with interesting lead guitar lines, freak out because nothing sounds right, and spend the day before the audition convinced that you will make a total fool of yourself. So I left work on Friday, bought some batteries for the effects pedals I haven't really used in almost 4 years, and tried to find an interesting way to let the phasor and wah pedal cover my obvious lack of skill. Anyway, so feeling completely unprepared, I made my way to the rehearsal studio on 30th st. in Manhattan.

    My two main concerns about the audition: First, the band already has two Asians. If I were to join the band, that would be three. And then the one non-asian is the lead singer. I think that would look kind of funny. I found out later that the other two asians had also voiced this concern to Rachel. She was a bit surprised that this would be such an issue. Whitey... Second, I was extra afraid that I was going to really, really suck. It'd be bad enough if I went to an audition and was just awful. It'd be even worse if it were someone I was friends with and they had to tell me I stunk. But if it were with someone I was sort of friends with, and who lived directly over me, it'd be unbearably awkward for the rest of our lease period if I showed up and was completely inept. I was foreseeing lots of quick, awkward "Hi, how are you"'s in the hallway for the next several months, as we did all we could to avoid eye-contact. Plus, the entire apartment upstairs can hear everything that goes on in our place, especially the guitar playing, and it would have definitely had made me less likely to play in my room, after having her judge me. Rachel told me later she was also worried about this.

    So I was just getting calmed down and warming up to the idea when I got to the studio. I walked in toward the end of another guy's audition. And he sounded pretty good and seemed confident and knew what he was doing. So then I went into a mini-panic attack, while simultaneously trying to look aloof and uninterested. This guy sounded pretty good, and was playing a beautiful Gibson ES-135 hollow body guitar, which I've wanted for quite some time. So afterwards he was talking about his other band, other instruments he plays, yada yada yada, and I was feeling like i was showing up for amateur night. And it was weird to be there. I certainly don't like being judged. So anyway, then we got going. I threw in a "I hope your expectations are pretty low," before starting, just in case I was as terrible as I thought i might be. All in all, I'd say I did ok. My lead lines and soloing were much better than they'd ever been, and I honestly don't know how I was able to pull some of that stuff out of my ass. They were very polite and complimentary, so naturally I figured they were just being nice. I don't really like first-hand compliments. They embarrass me. I'd rather hear it from a third party. Anyway, the experience itself ended up being a lot of fun. It's great to play with a good drummer. The drummer was easily the best musician in the band. Rachel'd told me they'd auditioned a few people before me, and only one of them was any good. The guy before me sounded pretty good, so I'd say at most two people are better than me. Though I would find it hard to believe either of them rock more than I do. That's not just talk. It's true. It's been documented. I've got sass to spare. No really, I fucking rock. So we'll see. As usual, expectations are low. But I'm glad I went. It ended up being a lot of fun, and it was the kind of situation where, even though I wasn't super-psyched to go, I would have been disappointed in myself if I hadn't.

    So i had to work on Saturday night, which disappointed me severely. An hour of COPs. Then I had to revisit the Rivertown Lounge on Orchard st. on the Lower East Side. My childhood friend Bard was in town from Chicago for the weekend, and this was our best opportunity to get together. So I met up with him and our friend Jon. Jon also lives in New York, on the Upper West, but i hadn't seen him for about a year and a half. I really loathe the Rivertown Lounge. I don't know why I feel superior the people there. I mean, yes, they almost all appear to be shitheads. And they annoy the hell out of me. But I'm sure they can't all be dinks. And I'm sure some people would look at me and say how much they couldn't stand everyone there. Maybe I should just be a little more accepting. But I just hated being there. So crowded. I was telling Jon that I thought I could just start flailing my arms and fists randomly, and almost anyone I hit would probably deserve it.

    so we got out of there pretty quick, and I suggested we stroll down to Tonic, which is what we did. The atmosphere was a little better. Then I got all pooped and we headed out.

Yesterday, Caryn came over with her four track, and we practiced a little song we're going to record. But mostly, we just played a lot of cover tunes, including the entirety of Neutral Milk Hotel's "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea." She forgot my microphone, so there wasn't much we could really do recording wise. I checked upstairs to see if either of the rock girls in apartment #2 had a mic, but none were to be had. However, I did get a couple of chocolate cupcakes out of the visit. Caryn and I also bought a whole roasted chicken from D'Agastino, along with mashed potatoes, corn bread, and two bottles of D'Agastino "pub style" beer. A real family meal, yessir.

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