Natural-Born Consumer

"Take heed, and beware of covetousness: for a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth" (Luke 12:15).

Fail. Just chalk it up to another fail. I covet all the time. If anyone really knows me, they could describe me as such: covetous. My Amazon.com Wishlist attests to this. It has always been one of my most favorite hobbies to want what I don't have. Life is a game of identifying what I don't have, devising a plan on how to get it, finally owning it, and then moving on to the next item on the list. I keep little lists of things I want to buy, and then I go over my monthly budget and finances, once, twice, more than five times a week to see what it is I can afford to get this time. And sometimes, I just want, want, want so badly that I impulse buy. What a gross admission.

Let's look at what's wrong with this picture: can I really be satisfied with anything when I just want all of the time? Not really. Like I said, there's always something else on the list, and the list never ends. If I acquire one thing, there's always one more item that is added to the end of the list. Ergo, there is always something that, in my mind, I do not have, and I'm just miserable without it. Didn't you get that from my last post?

Did you ever see Confessions of a Shopaholic? Our protagonist describes her problem thus: "When I shop, the world gets better, and the world is better, but then it's not, and I need to do it again." This has been my unconscious philosophy for dealing with life. Just acquire, and you will be happy.

I'm a visual person. I can walk into a bookstore, and all of my problems go away. I am cleansed by the sight of things I don't have, and every book promises to make me into a better person -- more controlled, or more educated, or more open-minded, and of course, much happier. All, I have to do is buy it. Or perhaps I feel overwhelmed or burdened; I go to a bookstore and check my problems at the door. It becomes such a marvelously positive experience that I just have to have a souvenir of my "journey."

How shallow. Let's just all get that opinion out into the open.

I simply have too much stuff for one person my age. I knew that when I moved this past January. I saw myself buried under a mountain of merchandise with no organization to any of it. You know that feeling you get when you look at a gaping hole in someone's flesh? Your friend falls off his bike and breaks his leg with a big bone sticking out of his skin, and you shudder with absolute shock and disgust? That's what I feel when I look at the state of my finances.

So, my strategy for change begins with this mantra: find fulfillment in doing, not having. If you buy a book, read it all. If you buy a DVD, make sure you'll watch it often (may I just say, I recommend seasons 1-3 of Arrested Development for this -- you will never make a better investment for entertainment). If you have an instrument, play the living hell out of it. Write. Read. Think. Those are the cheapest and longest lasting forms of fulfillment.

Yes, I see myself drifting off the road into a ditch, and it is so difficult not to over-correct the steering wheel. In fact, I do that all of the time. I shut off all spending, making myself impossibly miserable. I need a gentle transition back to the road. Finding fulfillment in doing does necessitate spending, sometimes. (I hope this is sound logic and not justification). You have to spend money to travel. You have to buy books you want to read if the library doesn't have them. You have to buy music if you want to be able to play it. Some of that is inescapable.

Now, I'm at the end of my post, and I want to delete the whole damn thing. That would be a shame, seeing how I post so infrequently. So, I'll hit the "Publish Post" button before I think better of it.

Santa Baby....

Dear Santa,

Look, I know you aren't due here for another eight months, but we seem to have a good relationship going; I behave, and you bring me stuff. Who says that only has to be one time a year? The Easter Bunny picks up your slack in the spring, my parents and family have to fork out cash and presents on my birthday... from where I sit, it looks like you have it easy. So, let's talk about what I want in the meantime.

Santa, my life is on the line. I am absolutely dying for lack of one of these:

In spite of my best efforts to save up for one, things just aren't moving as quickly as I want. You see, summer is here, dude. Summer is the time to read. Most obligations run away in the warm weather, and school work never seems as pressing.

Reading is a lovely activity. Surely you can see its merits. And my request is very honorable. I mean, how many children actually ask for books for Christmas? I'll bet you've carried your share of Harry Potter boxed sets over the past few years, but other than that, who really asks for books? This is an investment opportunity for you. Here's how the logic of this present goes down: you decide to give me one, and you only have to carry 1.4 pounds to my house; from here on out, the books that I want for Christmas, you deliver wirelessly to my Kindle via Whispernet; the decreased poundage in delivery saves your back, not to mention the countless chiropractic visits you go to on the other 364 days in the year; you give me the Kindle, and I read voraciously; I read voraciously, and become more educated; I become more educated, and I get a damn good job; I get a well-paying job, and you have no need to give me free stuff anymore -- you can just send me post-cards. Brilliant!

Santa, I'm stuck without it. I can't see the sense in buying more books when all the ones I want are available on Kindle anyway. I'd end up buying them twice! So, this is completely up to you: do you really want me to be miserable? Do you really want me to ruin my back by shuttling stacks and stacks of books back and forth from the library?

Sincerely yours,
Aaron

P.S. If you don't comply with my simple request, then I might just have to march into a few elementary schools and tell as many kiddies as I can that there is no Santa Claus. Is that really what you want?

You've got it all wrong

I think there's something wrong with the world when the top news story on BBC.co.uk is "Ricky Martin Announces He Is Gay" and the last story on the Top 10 is "Suicide Bombings hit Moscow Metro." (at 21:50p MDT, 29/03/2010). Don't get me wrong; I'm happy for the dude to unburden himself. But one man came out of the closet, whereas 38 people died. Judge for yourself.

I think there's something wrong with the world when people are so consumed with getting in front of other cars when driving. Did it ever occur to you to get behind someone? I look at someone who signals to wedge into the three feet of space between me and the next car, then I see that there is no one behind me for two blocks, and I think "what?! Are you serious?!" Do you really have to be in front of me? Will that one car length make that much difference?" Disgust.

I think there's something wrong with the world when everyone tries to appear as though they're on a catwalk, sending the signal: "You want to be me." No. Sorry. I just want to walk across campus without feeling like a potato. Maybe everyone should just relax and fart in public. Then, the masquerade will be over and everyone can be themselves.

I think there's something wrong with the world when higher education makes you feel like the biggest loser. It makes me wish I went to trade school to learn how to build stuff to compensate for all the people who tear down.

I think there's something wrong with the world when praise and good opinion are the scarcest resource on the planet. You can poke a giant hole in the ozone with your carbon emissions, and most of us will all die unfulfilled and thirsty.

Today, You Get an "F"

Failed, failed, failed. I'm so sick of that word. It's the only word you have in your head when not a damn thing goes right. You try to get up early, and your body decides otherwise. Fail. You decide you need to go to class, but your health decides you don't. Fail. Today is your day to bring treats to the Senior Operator meeting, but your sister has to do it for you - on her birthday! Big, fat Fail! Then one of your old friends drops by the office to pick up a copy of the Quran you've had of his for the past year and a half. Yep, he came from Sandy, and you didn't bring it in today, so he left empty handed. Big, big, fat Fail. I shouldn't have gotten out of bed today... but wait I didn't. That was the whole problem.

While we're speaking of failing, should we even mention the fact that this is my first post in over four months?

My only consolation? This little boy loves me like no one else. This is Evan, my little sister's dog. We live in an upstairs/downstairs duplex now, and this little dog loves to come down and sleep on my lap. He likes to run down the stairs and dance excitedly when he sees my face. He loves me even after I accidentally dropped him when going to get the mail yesterday. Yes, I dropped him. I was the bad dog. I missed my work meeting today and all of my classes, but still, I was the most important person in the world today to someone - this precious little dog.

I always hope that Christ's mercy is like a dog's disposition. If He's as forgiving as dogs are, we are all in good hands.

Modernist Crap

Did I ever tell you what a fake I am? I have it in my mind that musicians are supposed to be open minded about all kinds of music, are supposed to be free-lovers of all creative uses of sound. I'm not. I openly dislike all modern music. Nope, I don't mean popular recorded mainstream music. I mean most all instumental music composed about 1900 onward. I just don't like it. I'd rather have my temperature taken witha rectal thermometer than listen to endless modern sonatas.

I'd like to enduldge my own ego here and hope that I'm with the majority of people: we just can't follow it. It seems to go everywhere and nowhere. It's like a beatnik poet on open-mic night at a coffee bar: over-indulgent and unrestrained, art for art's own sake. Me? I think that wherever there is art of value, it must always show restraint. The art I most deeply respect, the kind that makes me fall on my face with amazement is the type that leaves little "breadcrumbs" of brilliance as if to say, "Oh yes, Aaron. I am very capable of doing all of it." Yet, in the face of their own immense ability, they surrender it all to the piece; they temper themselves in order to sharpen their communication as an artist.

I'm selling the modernists short, I'm sure. They must somehow be as thrifty in their craft as the rest of us. I just don't get it.

Someone asked me on Wednesday if I planned on attaching myself to a symphony upon completing music school. The thought stopped me in my tracks. Yes, that was always the plan - occupy the principle harpist position with a major symphony/ orchestra/ philharmonic and teach at a neighboring university. Now, it didn't make much sense. It didn't sound fun. You know how many times a symphony plays the classics? Those recognizable melodies that sometimes are made into ringtones?


So as I sit here during the intermission of one of the Utah Symphony Nova Chamber Series concerts, I wonder. Louise, my instructor, is playing today. She loves these modern pieces for their nuance and color. Does that interest come later? Do I get bored with those classics eventually? Or do I resent the fact that I cannot choose the repertoire and plug away at the music as sometimes people plug away at the boring parts of their jobs?

Nope. I have to have Baroque? Why?! Why, why, why?! Why did I have to be a harpist who loves Baroque?! There's like 2% of our repertoire that is Baroque! Plenty has been transcribed, but only a sliver is originally Baroque. And as a principle harpist, I'm not going to be playing any of the transcriptions because the snobby museum-culture that makes up the season ticket-holders just won't allow it. They'll know that only Handel had bollucks enough to write a concerto for the harp, and even then, half of the time the concerto performances harp part was given to the organ. The harp wasn't that important in Baroque music.

But there's a glimmer of hope: The Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Field. I heard them perform at the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Field in London. I have their CDs. They play Baroque on period instruments. And, they have a harpist. That's my in. Even Baroque composers that I just don't care for, I like to listen to. I could take whatever repertoire they throw at me and love it. No metaphorical rectal thermometers. Brilliant!

So, where does this leave me now? I've created such a narrow window to happiness. I have to work, work, work. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, but Jack, in this instance, has a chronic illness to deal with and a big doggie to provide for. All work and no play puts food on Jack's table and pays for his monthly subscription to NetFlicks. That's not a bad life for Jack.

--Blogged on the run using my mobile.

So I'm quite obsessed with what one can do with a mobile these days. For kripes sake, I can blog, listen to Bach, send/receive texts and phone calls all at the same time on one little palm-sized nugget. For someone who hasn't had the Internet at home, this is complete liberation. I smile at the very thought.

It just streamlines life. Let's say I want to practice on campus. Those lovely school harps, sadly, are never in tune. But who wants to carry a tuner around with them on the off chance that they have a free hour to practice? No worries, I have a chromatic tuner on my phone. Need a metronome?I have that on my phone, too.

I gage my musical progress by time. With learning instruments, there are no shortcuts. Either I put in the time, or I don't. And no matter how brilliant I might momentarily sound, it's not going to be as good as if I spent a full amount of practice time on myself. Time is the bottom line. Well folks, there's an app for that too. All I have to do is press one button and my practice time is recorded by exercise, by piece, by instrument, etc. It graphs my totals separately and together, and it also graphs my progress in speed. Marvelous! I have a visual confirmation to satisfy the need for constant progress. The stats seem to say, "You know what? Be fulfilled because you spent a serious chunk of time on your craft today. You did well."


And what about this? I can snap a photo of Imogen Heap in concert and tell you all what a great experience it was, all on one device. If it's not classical, I'm just not a concert-goer. I've been to The Fray and to Imogen. That's it. Everything else, I'm afraid, most people wouldn't call them concerts because it's the stuff that most people find boring. To me, they're morphine drips, straight to the heart. And Imogen, though not classical, is great talent, folks. She mixes and creates a one-of-a-kind show right on stage. She knows her instruments and her technology, and she marvelously creates something completely different. In a different life, I'm filthy rich, and I take all of you with me.

I hope all of this mobile talk doesn't sound like gloating. Oh no, I'm just dancing in all my luck. The 'blogged on the run' label down at the bottom? That's just something that makes me feel like some of these posts are novel. My favorite 'London Blog' posts are the ones I actually posted while in London. There's something fun about reading words written while in an irregular setting. So, "blogged on the run?" I could be in a doctor's office, waiting for my name to be called. I could be on a park bench in the middle of campus. Anywhere there's mobile reception, I could be. Try it, folks. If you have a laptop, move yourself to a Starbucks or Borders Cafe and blog. You'll come alive with the new atmosphere.

But the clincher, the best payoff for having this phone, for me is photos like this:


It makes my day when my dad and little sister treat me to instant doggie photos. Lovely!

--Blogged on the run using my mobile.

Finished Tattoo

So, I forget about my blog these days. I have rhythms, I find, of being so thoroughly excited about my own life that I can just blog away. And there are other times when I feel like being semiprivate or blogging just becomes an irritating chore.

It didn't help my blog that we had the Internet taken away from us at work. Our performance was just too sad to merit priviledge. So, I didn't write or check blogs that often. Crystal dear, yours is always the exception; your readership is partly due to those amazingly cute little twits you're raising.

Now, I can read all of your blogs on my phone. God bless the 21st century!

My mom got to come for a visit this past week - the positive end of a trade-off from losing my Grandpa. The dear man - he passed away at 87 from renal failure. It wasn't totally unexpected, and it wasn't completely sudden. It was simply his time to move on. He provided his family the wonderful opportunity to gather together and share company without hard feelings.

And on Friday, I got my birthday gift. I don't turn 27 until later in the month, but my tattoo artist had an opening, and I had to take it. After a year of waiting, my family paid to have my tattoo finished. The guy did such an amazing job. See for yourself:





It's the absolute spitting image of my little boy. Marvelous!

--Blogged on the run using my mobile.