A nice Suprise

At 4am I was having some kind of adventure dream--you know, where you're Indiana Jones or somebody like that and you're on the track of some hidden treasure and you're in your underwear...you don't have that kind of dream, do you? Well, anyway, in my dream this alarm sounded. I figured it signaled some kind of trap and I pressed on in my pursuit. Then the alarm became the ringing of a phone and I woke up. It was my neighbor calling to tell me he saw somebody drive by our houses half an hour earlier and vandalize our cars as they passed. His car hadn't been damaged but the window in mine was shattered. I asked him if he'd call the police and then I went back to bed. Strangely enough, I wasn't angry or even disappointed; just tired. Soon our bedroom was filled with flashing blue and red lights. I put on some clothes and went out to see three Sherriff's Cars in front of my house. I walked over to see the damage and found a fire extinguisher sitting comfortably in the front seat, covered with glass. The deputy took it to see if he could trace it but I don't have any hope of that turning up any results. So I don't even have a fire extinguisher that I could sell on Ebay or something.
It was pretty heavy duty, the kind you find in businesses, so it was probably stolen.
I still wasn't angry at all today about it, not like I was when my stereo was stolen. But when I began cleaning it up a while ago and cut my hands on the glass, that's when I started getting pissed. I keep thinking I'm going to get some kind of motion-sensing camera for surveilance but I never do. I can't even say I hope they enjoy whatever it is they took because they didn't take anything. Completely senseless.

A Quick One

Are you getting sick of these yet? I did this one really quick and videotaped the process.
You can see the video here.

Temple Hill Videos

My friend, Dennis Lyman, has produced four historical documentaries on Utah and some of the Mormon Temples. I edited and directed three of them. Click here to learn more.

Another Meeting, Another Doodle

This is the result of a six-hour meeting on Saturday. Someone there tried to steal it from me, but I'm lightning fast, baby. I scanned it larger than the others so if you click on it you'll see it in more detail.

Just a few of the things I can see in it:
a cabin; Mario(a friend of mine swears it's the bat signal); a mummy; a girl leaning against a tree looking down; a rose, an alien skeleton, a bus, a woman in a skirt taking off her jacket (this one's very subtle); a drawing compass wearing gym shorts; an old haunted house with a lot of junk in front of it; a jeep; a low rider; an upside-down mountain lion; a nose-diving goose; a star; upside-down hearts; an amtrak train; a barn; the dog/reindeer from the Grinch; an olive branch; a scale; a harp; a bust of some guy; a pot of gold; two safety pins; a stratocaster; and lots of other things.

A Couple of Doodles

This is what I do during meetings when they think I'm taking notes:


What images do you see? I see different things every time I look and I drew them.

Ready to Rock

Here's the new band. As you can see, we have a new Drummer. We're rehearsing, gearing up for the new world tour. There are a few hitches, though. We're not sure when we're going to start because one of us isn't potty-trained yet. I'll let you decide which one. Our booking agent is up in arms and some of the venues are threatening to pull out if we don't give them a solid commitment. The way I see it, our fans won't let that happen. We discussed it as a band and their mom, I mean our manager, has agreed that we just can't risk an accident on stage. So we'll keep practicing and we'll let everyone know when we're ready to get on the road.
Oh, by the way, if anyone can think of a good name for us, we're all ears!

A couple more of my drawings. The brown one is Saint somebody and the boy is one of my sons.

I Don't Think So, Al

This photo has been sitting here in my editbay for a while and I figured I ought to preserve it here with the others I've put up.
That was the day Richard Karn finished shooting an infomercial. He is a great guy. Very funny and very un-Al-like. I never ask for these photos. I always leave that up to my buddies who are in the picture with me and Richard. The only time I asked to have a photo with someone was Tears for Fears which you can read about somewhere in this blog.
A few weeks after this I was in Vegas at the airport looking through a magazine and I saw a full-page ad for the company he did the infomercial for. It was a shot of the whole cast and crew on our stage. It's funny how excited I get about these things.

I'm Listening to Music Again!

I started this post a while ago and then I started to realize how much it rambles. I'm not sure anyone wants to know what I think about music, especially when my thoughts go on like this. But this experience I had rediscovering U2 has taken a lot of space in my grey matter and it even made me physically ill. Something that profound ought to be preserved for myself if for no one else. So here I go:

If there is one thing that's on my mind more frequently or more intensely than anything else, I would say it has to be music. I'm not sure I like what that says about me. I'd rather have it be my family, or God, something noble like that, but it's not. It's music. I might talk about how lost I've been feeling that last few years in another post but I've been thinking that this overwhelming disorientation in my life lately has at least some roots in the way I've been feeling about the state of music in the world.

Back in the 80's when I was in my late teens and early 20's, I was driven. I pursued my job in television with an exlusionary furvor. I pursued my art and writing, if not with the same intensity, at least much more than I do now. Music had really sparked me. While officially I was a goth/punker, I was into any kind of music that had what I considered were edgy, punk rock ideals. Many might agree with my definition but in addition to the obvious choices like The Sex Pistols, The Cramps, The Circle Jerks, 7 Seconds, The Pogues, I included Pink Floyd, Neil Young, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Doors, and (I know, I know) Prince and the Revolution. They were all--or they all had been at one time--pushing the limits and doing things that were outside the mundane crap that had been going on. I loved listening to that but I had two fall backs that I always listened to: Depeche Mode and The Cure. Anybody familiar with these two groups in the early eighties will agree that they are not the same bands they used to be.
Then, in 1985, a punker I knew gave me a cassette he'd recorded from LP. Actually it was from two LP's. One side was TSOL, which was just a little too thrashy for me and I couldn't connect. But the other side of the cassette changed me in ways I can't describe. It was "Under a Blood Red Sky" by U2. I was absolutely blown away by it. I wore the tape out listening to it. I had heard some of the songs much earlier on the radio, "Electric Co.," "New Year's Day," and "I will Follow" among them. I had thought they were cool but when I heard them, my relationship with music was much more cursory. I didn't pay a whole lot of attention. But this, the live, kind of ratty, unpolished, but huge sound grabbed me and threw me to the ground. I immediatly bought it on cassette along with all of their studio albums up to that time. I was disappointed. First of all, the cassette didn't have Bono's long ramble in the middle of "Electric Co." It was edited out. I vaguely remember it being something about clowns. The other disappointment was that the studio versions on Boy, October, and War, did not nearly capture the vibrance and spontaneity of the concert. I had come at these songs in one way and from the studio they seemed wimpy and dispassionate. I've gotten over that, though, and I wouldn't miss the chance to hear the other songs that didn't make it in the concert.
I was completely under U2's spell for years afterward. Unforgetable fire was a thrill because they'd finally done in the studio what they captured at Red Rocks. the Joshua Tree pierced me with its anthems. When the film "Rattle and Hum" came out, I was a cameraman for the local news in Idaho. Between the 6pm and 10pm newscasts, I went across the street to the theaters there and bought a ticket. I sat there by myself shivering from being immersed in the stunning live footage. Phil Joanu is incredible. I know that album wasn't a critical success but I loved it. U2 could do no wrong, except that Bono's God complex started to become apparent. I didn't really think about it at the time but, looking back, I realize that something didn't sit well with me. He had a message and he was forcing it down everybody's throat. And the message wasn't just political. It was about American music and values and it was a little pushy for an Irishman who hated the blues.
Then there was a break. I went on a mission for my church before "Achtung Baby" came out. Mormon missionaries live a somewhat cloistered life in that they don't listen to popular music or watch movies or, in some cases, read the news. All this is so that they can focus on their two years of work. It's actually a good thing and I wouldn't trade my experience for anything.

Of course I couldn't miss hearing the ubiquitous sounds of the band of Dubliners. But I couldn't immerse myself in it and I lost touch. The next thing I remember is seeing videos from "Pop" years later on M2 and if the door wasn't shut before then it was now...and locked. "Pop" sucked and the concert that came here to Salt Lake sucked according to my friend who went to it. So that was it. I didn't need to pay attention anymore. I didn't even know they had come out with "All That You Can't Leave Behind" until last week. I totally missed that one. When I saw their Ipod commercial featuring "Vertigo" my interest piqued, but not enough to get them back on my radar.

But it wasn't just U2 I lost touch with. Music in general was going down the tubes. Aside from the few standouts--Coldplay, John Mayer, and The Killers--music had lost its soul. I was dependant on old stuff to get me by: Pink Floyd, The Beatles, and a few others. I even started exploring genres I'd avoided, going for Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash, and the old delta bluesmen. But for the most part, I avoided music. When I got an IPod, I loaded it up with audiobooks. People would think I was rocking out when I was really sinking into a great book.

Then it happened. A couple of weeks ago I was in the library looking for another audiobook and I saw U2 by U2 among the new arrivals. It was a hefty book and I figured I'd do what I always do with books of that type. I've done it with the best: I thumb through it, looking at the pictures and reading a few pages but inevitably losing interest and returning the book. I've done it with Pink Floyd's book, Mick Fleetwood's, and many others. Still, I thought I'd give it a shot. I read until 3 or 4 in the morning every night for a week until I'd finished it. I'm just getting over a 3-day migraine as a result. But I've also rediscovered my favorite band as well as discovering a few other things along the way.

One of the reasons I fell out with U2 is I don't like liking bands that everyone else likes. If it's the lowest common denominator there must be something wrong with it, right? When I was first into them, hardly anyone else I knew was into them. Now it seems everybody on the planet knows who they are. Also, Bono seems to have this arrogance that I can't abide. That came through in the book, as well. His paragraphs were always 3 or 4 times as long as the rest of the band's. And he had the last word! But the rational side of me thinks that that is what it takes to become what he's become. Not necessarily arrogance but confidance, which he has in abundance.

A few more threads of thought formed inside my little old brain as I read. The band talks about the song, "One," how people play it at their weddings and how the band, having written the song would never have it played in such a setting. It's about breaking up, they say, not getting together. That got me thinking. It's not just the poet who writes the poem. It's the reader as well. They bring their own experiences to the work and make it their own. It doesn't matter who owns the copyright, no one owns the work itself. It's a living thing that starts breathing as soon as someone lays eyes or ears on it.

Ok. That's enough of that. Suffice it to say, my IPod's loaded with U2's music. And I have quite an advantage over the rest of the planet: This stuff is all new to me!

On a Winter's Day

This is what it looks like outside my window right now. That's our half-dead plumb tree that drops purple bombs all over the sidewalk in the summertime, exploding their sticky mess in the path of passersby.

This is our half-dead willow tree that is a beautiful sight when it's showing off its green plumage except for a great gap in the very top which, at its worst, looks like a cancer-caused cavity, and at its best, an old bald man who can only manage to grow hair on the sides of his head.

The snow seems, oddly, to be a new thing at our house. There's a lot of excitement among the kids and grumbling among the adults. There's talk of Snowmen and Snow Forts and how our neighbor came and "mowed" the snow in our driveway, according to my youngest son. Little girl is bugging me to go out with her but she can't find her boots. This is the first real snowfall of the season but other than that, I'm not sure what all the fuss is about. We've spent a lot of time in the white stuff. I could ski almost before I could walk and in Idaho where I grew up, we could walk close to the tops of the power poles on the drifts. I guess it is a lot milder here but you wouldn't know that by watching the traffic. People around here get really stupid in the snow when they're driving. They think their monstertruck four-wheel drives will stop them on a dime on a sheet of inch-thick ice. They never learn.

My Fifteen Minutes Aren't Up Yet...If I Can Help It

I've got a friend who's a movie reviewer with a nationally syndicated show. He's the one interviewing Robin and Dustin in those videos of mine. I put together the graphics for his show when I feel like it. I don't get paid for it so it's not something I'm really motivated to do. He's been bugging me for a new look for the new year and I've been putting a little effort into it here and there but that hasn't really helped me much because he's still nagging. If I'd just get the thing done, he'd get off my back for a while. So I found the kick in the butt I needed:
The concept is several of the stars he's interviewed flying by in slick looking boxes that assemble themselves into the "T" (the first letter of the title of the show) when you pull back wide. It's a mundane process because you need a lot of shots to make it work. While I was thus engaged, I noticed my camera in the corner and had a crazy thought. What if I took a shot of myself as if I were one of the stars and slipped my picture in there? So I set up the camera here in my edit bay and rolled on 40 seconds of myself talking to the wall. My shot won't be prominent. It'll come up in the distance but it will be clear enough for someone to recognize me if they're looking for it.

Don't tell my friend.

So THIS is Why We Lie

This will go down in the annuls (not anals) of history as the best Christmas ever. This is not because I was swimming in presents--I wasn't. It's not even because I gave my wife the gift that made her jaw drop and brought tears to her I eyes--I didn't. It was because I got to live Christmas through my three-year-old daughter.

3:45 am Christmas Morning: I'm jolted awake by the sound of my Wife's voice shouting, "Get out of there. Go back to bed until 7:00!" The culprits? Dinky Jr. and his 8-year-old brother rummaging through the presents. As far as I know they went back to bed.

7:00 am: I'm awakened again. This time it's the sound of little boys whispering, "Can we go in there now?" I got up and tried to rouse Little Girl. As always, she wouldn't have any of it. She's a late sleeper. I pulled out the big guns. "Do you think Santa came?" She was up like a shot and heading toward the living room. Her body was up but her brain was still asleep and I had to steer her to keep her from bumping into the walls. She went into the room, looked around, and went right past her presents to the window. "What are you looking for?" I asked. "I don't see Santa," she said. I pointed to her presents and we explained that Santa had been there after all.

All morning long we took turns opening presents. Even before she had the wrapping off of most of them she would exclaim with joy about the wonderful suprise inside, and then she would say, "What is it?"

All week she walked around saying, "It's a wonderful Christmas!" until New Year's Day when her mantra changed to, "Is it Christmas?"

The Who?

I've never been really into the Who--even when I was hanging out with the mods in San Fernando Valley, CA back in 1985 with our thriftshop clothes and peace symbols. Certainly not the way I'm into Pink Floyd, the Beatles, John Mayer or Coldplay (really the only four acts that exist right now--and yes, the Beatles will always exist!). But when my 10-year-old, Dinky Jr., and I got 20th-row floor seats to their show last month, I became a convert. So did Dinky Jr., I think. He recognized "Who Are You" which is the theme song to C.S.I., possibly the worst show on network television right now.
People tell me that this concert was nothing like the last time they were here, well over 20 years ago, when they were strapping young (well, at least younger than they are now) lads who could jump around on stage without losing their breath, but all I have to say to that is, I'm glad I didn't see that show. This one far exceeded any expectations I had. It was a tad loud (even Daltry plugged his ears at one point) for my taste but Dinky Jr. had earplugs in so I wasn't worried about him.
We were told that the show was being filmed for a DVD and I saw some cameras trained on us, so we might show up in it. Dinky Jr. is pretty cute, after all, and for a 10-year-old, he was gettin' down, as they say.
The light show was pretty good and I loved the images that appeared in the flat screens behind the band. I loved the nostalgia of said images and was touched by the last song, which seemed to be a look back to all they had been and a lament on the fact that there's only two of them left.
They're old men, sure, but they can still rock. Pete, if anything, has gotten better on guitar. I did notice, though, that on the intro to "Pinball Wizard," rather than playing an accoustic, he played a Strat through an accoustic sim pedal. What that implies is that his fingers aren't as strong as they used to be but that probably isn't true. He probably just likes the Strat better. At any rate, it sounded fabulous, perfect, and it gives me hope that the technology is out there that makes great sounds easier to create.
It was a smart move getting Zak Starky on drums. I didn't realize who he was until Pete introduced him. As soon as I heard the name, Starky, I knew. I hate to say this but it's the truth: He rocks harder than his dad!
You can't ignore the age thing, though. As we were walking toward the arena before the show, I told Dinky Jr., "This band was popular when your Grandma was a teenager!" Imagine that.

Jack the Dripper

The Rat in this photo emailed this url to me. It's very relaxing and makes you feel like an artist.

A thought I had when I couldn't sleep...

Since its earliest conception rock & roll has been about one thing: Excess. How far can you push the volume, the tempo, and the envelope. Nigel Tufnel's volume knobs that go to eleven ring eerily (and hilariously) true. Rock lyrics have been a symbol for how much you can violate taboos, sexual, racial, religious, among others. Then life began imitating art with the artists living out the extremes represented by the music. There have been excesses of alcohol and drugs, overdoses, suicides and attempted suicides, insanity, and even a surprising number of murders. Styles of dress have gone from one extreme to the other: Drugs and Alcohol to Straight Edge; Hair ultra long and ultra short (and ultra pink); Clothing suffocatingly tight to so baggy you could drown. And it goes on. The music has even gotten so excessive and extreme at times that very few could tolerate it. So whether you listen to Extreme or INXS or any of the countless other line-crossers out there, if you're into rock music you're pushing the limit.

It's been a year since my last real post. A year. Worse than that (maybe "worse" isn't the right term...) I haven't drawn seriously for over 4 years. Four Years! But the forces have been gathering. An almost pre-war energy has been swirling around--the kind of energy you read about in The Lord of the Rings. Something's going to happen. I almost said finally, but that would suggest an end to the long creative lull I've had. That kind of thinking is destructive because when I hit the next wall I won't be expecting it and it will stop me for a longer period next time--or even for good.

All this isn't to say that I've been doing nothing. I've actually been extremely busy and, looking back at it, a lot of that effort has been well-placed...preparatory. To create there has to be something to draw from. I've been playing my guitar every day for over five years now. Last night I watched Clapton's Crossroads Guitar Festival on PBS and played along with most of the acts. (When John Mayer came on I put my guitar on my lap and just stared in awe at the young punk. How can you have a hero that's 13 years younger than you?) Inspiration was oozing out of the television and I was catching it in the palms of my hands. I started playing guitar about 5 years ago (I've been playing drums for 20) and I've never held any real hope or belief that I'd be any good--I just love it. What happened to me last night, though, gave me a little hope. I noticed that my finger know where to go for the most part. Armed with my basic knowledge of chords and structures, I'm able to intuit form and play along. I still have no illusions about being any good at guitar but there's a reason, now, to keep pursing my other creative goals.

I just read a paragraph on Mayer's Blog that says all this much better than I can:

"I can't really explain what happens when, as an artist, you get that message from the inside that says "time to make another one." One day you're sitting around, living off the fat of the land, and then as if from out of nowhere, it taps you on the shoulder. The slate goes shiny and clean. Those colors come back - it all starts as colors - then moods, then settings, then sounds, then words. And churning beneath that the entire time is the doubt; doubt that you'll find the rhyme, doubt that you'll ever connect that verse with that chorus, doubt that you have anything left to say that matters."

I can't make any predictions about how long this will last or how long I continue to post to this blog even. But something is in the works and for the first time in a long while, I'm feeling the excitement.

Hey! I'm in That!

I was over at www.nytimes.com and I saw an article about the new Mars Imax film. If you listen closely you can hear my voice in the film. The sound for the scene in the control room where all of the scientists are cheering their success at having successfully communiticated with the rover was recorded here at the TV station. My co-workers and I are the ones doing the actual cheering and clapping.

Wait Up!

I'm still, amazingly enough, riding the bike. I'm still enjoying the scenery. The cats are gone and it's still pretty secluded up there. The wildlife is the most amazing part about the ride. The other day I startled a hawk which flew over my head and landed on a telephone wire that sagged under it's weight. It watched me as I came closer. It was about six feet directly over my head when it flew off again. I continued pushing up the hill, wishing I had a camera. I looked back and it had landed on the top of one of the poles. I kept going and it followed me, flapping to the next pole and then the next.

Today was different. A neighbor of mine heard I was riding and wanted to come along. His bike is one speed because his derailer broke and he just took it off, so I thought he'd have a hard time keeping up. Fine with me, I'm not a racer--more of a meanderer. Boy! was I wrong. He cruised up the hills like they were flat, saying, "Lance Armstrong loves these kinds of hills." I had a hard time hear this, though, because I was so far behind him. Twenty minutes later (it's usually thirty when I'm alone), he was waiting for me at the top of the hill. I slogged up, sucking wind, and turned around, grateful for the rest I'd have coasting back down the hill. Back home, we talked for awhile, then he said, "Do it again tomorrow?" "Sure," I said, wondering how I was going to manage getting up at 6am again. So my pretend workout is becoming real. Scary.

Drawings

I don't have my drawings site anymore. A few people have asked to see them so this will be the place for them (click to enlarge):

The Ride

There was a little action on my almost-daily bike ride this morning. About three times a week I get up at about six and ride for half an hour. It's been going on for a while now but it doesn't seem to be having any effect on my physique which unfortunately looks like the guy in "Supersize Me" at the end of his thirty-day ordeal. It was just seven years ago when I resembled his before picture. I keep riding though, hoping that something will happen eventually and because it's such a beautiful ride and I feel rejuvenated when I'm done.

I take a dirt road on the edge of the forbidden wilderness known as Kennecott Property, home of the Kennecott Copper mine. It's only about thirty yards from 84th West, a rather busy highway, but it feels very secluded. On one rainy, windy morning I coaxed myself out of bed to make the trek, and I was very glad I did. A stunningly beautiful mist hung around the tops of the hills and the freezing rain soaked into my clothes and skin, making me feel alive. About a week ago, in much calmer weather, I nearly ran into two does. The trip always starts out up hill. I don't dare go down hill first because I'll never make it home again, so I ride for 25 minutes up hill, then I turn around and take ten minutes to get home. On this particular morning I was cruising pretty fast and, as I was coming round a bend, I didn't see the deer until I was almost on top of them. They hesitated for only a second then jumped over a barbed wire fence in tandem.

A few days ago I noticed a dead black cat in the road. It puzzled me because I've only ever seen one car on the road. I hoped it would decay quickly so I wouldn't have to see it every day, but I knew it would be there for a long time because no one goes there. Today there was a second cat, a long-haired white one of some sort, lying in the road. I'm not sure how this is happening. As I rode past, my calf started to itch. I scratched it and it itched again. I looked down and saw a large black fly making me his dinner. I swatted at it to brush it away and smeared it all over my leg, streaking blood on my hand. I was pretty squeamish because a friend of mine had told me the other day about watching the program, "Nature" about parasites and how this guy was walking in the jungle and was bitten by a black fly on the stomach. The resulting red mark grew in size over a few weeks and he found himself the proud papa of an inch long larva.

I kept going and startled a jack rabbit. I would have enjoyed this more, but I kept thinking I'd better go to the doctor. I'm not going to wait around like that guy. He even called the thing "George," for crying out loud! No Georges alowed in my leg, thank you very much.