Look Out You Rock n' Rollers-The Soundtrack to my Life

Funeral For A Friend

2011-12-28T08:47:00.000-08:00

I just found out a boy I grew up with died suddenly this week. I remember him as an exuberant, mischievous boy, always with an impish smile, constantly in trouble with the teacher, but so sweet and funny, no one could stay mad at him. We lost touch as we grew up, but I always remembered his ready smile and his generous spirit.

As I read his obituary it got me to thinking about what my obituary would say if I were to die today. How would people remember me? How would I want them to remember me? I sat and meditated on this, and this is what I came up with:

Michelle Haunold passed away, and is survived by her large loving family and many friends. She loved life and opened her heart to all people, giving them many chances, even though some of those people caused great pain and hurt in her life.

Music and nature were her life blood, each providing a consistent base for her as she struggled to find her authentic voice and path in life. She lived joyously and openly, but also struggled to find her way, which led to her developing a deep faith in God later in life.

She was a passionate teacher, wanting to help others find their own truth, and their own way by sharing the joy of discovering one's own strengths. She was an avid Master Gardener who cared deeply about the Earth and environment, and strove to show others how they could make a difference by mindfully taking care of their own little plot of land.

She believed strongly in truth, integrity, honesty and justice and passionately encouraged others to own those qualities for themselves. She was fearless about speaking her truth and following her passions, and while it didn't always work out the way she planned, she never let fear stop her.

I am sure there's more I could write, but the things I care most about, I realize I've owned for myself, or want to own for myself. I want to live life fully, taking bites of everything that catches my attention. I want to try new things, and live as richly and exuberantly as I possibly can. I haven't done that yet.

As the saying goes, life is not a dress rehearsal. We get this lifetime to explore and to live. If I were to die today, would I have done and tried and thought and explored everything I wanted? I can answer this question today by saying no, there's much more I want to try. I've edited my life, and let fear stop me many times, but no more.

I have nothing to lose but fear itself, and honestly, I'm done with letting fear control my life: fear of failure, fear of success, fear of what others will think about me, fear about what I will think about myself.

Yes, I've made many mistakes. I've hurt people and let myself down. It was never intentionally or maliciously. But I see that these things happen to give me perspective, to act as guides along my path. It gives me a way to check in with myself and if I'm off the path then I can get back on by correcting my steps and my actions, and moving forward.

Life is not a dress rehearsal. I am looking at the upcoming new year with new eyes; what do I want to create for myself that will help me live fully, exuberantly, deliciously? I am taking this new year to further open and expand, and explore the miracle of my life that is waiting patiently for me.
Happy New Year!

Beng Grateful for Beginnings and Endings

2011-09-11T09:11:00.000-07:00

It's September 11th today, and for many, it is a time of commemoration, mourning and remembering. It's the same for me too, although for very different reasons. Today would have been my 18th wedding anniversary. As I sat in the garden drinking my coffee, writing and looking back, I finally have peace, wellness and serenity in my life and I am deeply grateful.

I haven't felt much like writing this last year. The pain, hurt and turbulence of the massive shifts in my life had taken a toll. I just needed to focus on myself, on healing, and on getting my energy back. I really just needed to pull everything inward, and focus on me. Some days, I didn't even go to work, but stayed home, puttering in my garden, going for bike rides and just resting.

I had to. All these months have been very much one of rediscovering who I AM. Not what everyone around me thinks I am, not what people think I should be, or want me to be, but who the very essence of me is. If you've never done this before, I strongly recommend it. It has been very liberating to look at a piece of clothing, food, a book, a CD, and ask myself "Do I really love this? Or am I just doing this because it is what I think I should like, feel, eat, listen to, wear.... whatever.

This year has been about taking a journey back to myself, back to my center. And it has been a journey I had to make alone. Too many distractions when you allow other people in. Too much temptation to do what they want because I've always put every one else's desires before my own. Does this sound selfish? Lonely? Weird? Yes, I suppose on the outside looking in, it does.

But for me it has been a miracle. A tremendous blessing of rediscovery, validation, joy, and acknowledging that while what I want may not be what those around me want, its ok, because its mine.

When I walked away from my marriage 12 years ago, I was just beginning the quest. Then I started Gearhead and gave up that quest and focused everything I had on my company, my business partner, the bands I was working with. Trying to be everything for everyone else, and completely forgetting about me.

In 2006, I realized I needed to get back on my path, and ended my partnership with my business partner, who had become my lover and then my best friend, and then finally, a co-dependent unhealthy relationship all over again.

It has been 5 long years now of finding my way back to myself. And today, I can say with deep joy, gratitude and serenity, I have finally found me again.

Today's reading in a little book called Meditations for Women Who Do Too Much by Anne Wilson Schaef really sums up this idea.

"When we are not really dealing with our disease of doing too much, we are often silent and not serene. We have only shut up for awhile and are still tense and confined, like a city park shut off from activity. Serenity is more like having a country silence within. Serenity is an acceptance of who we are and a being of who we are. Serenity is an awareness of our place in the universe and a oneness with all things. Serenity is active. It is a gentle and firm participation with trust. Serenity is the relaxation of our cells into who we are and a quiet celebration of that relaxation. Lovingly, way back somewhere, I remember what it is like to have a 'country silence' within. I can be grateful for that sense of knowing."

I finally know and embrace serenity, and it is magical.

Ask, and Ye Shall Receive

2010-12-31T09:12:00.000-08:00

It's New Year's Eve Day, Dec 31 2010. As I sit here listening to Nawang Khechog, beautiful Tibetan flute music, I allow my mind to float over the past year. New Year's Eve is always a very magical, mystical time for me. I like looking back at how the year went, and many times, things I've forgotten about float into my awareness. This year was a pivotal year of change for me. I am not the same person here at the end of the year that I was when I started the year.

2010 began as a time filled with fear, uncertainty, grief and much trepidation. I was getting close to the end of the bankruptcy, but still had no idea what was going to happen with my business. I was excited though, as I was putting out another record with a band I still believed in, and even though they were acting like jerks, I still thought everything would be ok. It was just they were being affected by the uncertainty in my life. I was still taking responsibility for their feelings, which of course makes me laugh now as I look back, but then, I still felt a tremendous desire to "make it ok" for them.

I was still operating my life as I had, like a classic co-dependent in an unhealthy relationship. Only now, the relationship was between me and my business. No wonder it was in melt down mode! One of the best gifts I got at the beginning of the year , besides word that my bankruptcy was finalized, was a book called The Courage of Change, one of the Al Anon texts. I had finally reached a place in my life where I knew that I was truly, completely miserable. I had definitely hit bottom emotionally,and so, as often happens when one finally surrenders control, help arrived in the form of this book.

I didn't have anything else left to lose, and so I opened the book and read the entry for Jan 1, and read the words talking about recovery as a process, a day by day practice in taking action for ones' self to change the life you no longer are comfortable with. And thus, little by little, began a practice that would carry me through the turbulent months to come. I slowly started to allow my life to change as I faced the downsizing of my business through employees moving on, the realization that I no longer wanted to put all my energy into supporting a store front, the need to simplify my life. It had gotten completely out of control, unmanageable and overwhelming, and I was finally ready to face the fact that it no longer gave me any pleasure and I could just stop.

And my habit of trying to fix other people's lives when they reallly didn't want the help? Well, I got that message loud and clear when, despite my best efforts, the last band I was holding onto hired a lawyer to get their record back from me. They didn't even have the courage to tell me themselves. It was the last thread holding me to my old way of life, my old patterns.

And so, by the middle of the year, I finally said "screw you" to this last distraction, and started putting myself first. It began in little ways, with little daily actions, such as taking the time to sleep as much as my body needed, only working part time when I just felt too overwhelmed, taking the time to meditate and pray, and really ask The Universe for help and guidance.

Now, on the last day of the year, I look back over it, and almost don't recognize the woman I am now. I am no longer turning myself inside out for my business and for the people connected with that business. For the first time in a very long time, I am truly at peace, deeply content, and grateful for the calm that has entered my life. I still have a long way to go, but I understand now the ancient instructions "Be Here Now" or, live in the present moment. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, and honestly, I don't really care. It will be what it will be. All I can do is check in with my body today, at this very moment, and see where I'm at. And that's good enough.

Tonight, I plan on taking 3 helium balloons and for each one, writing down a request for the feelings I want to fill my life with in 2011: peace, tranquility, grace, gratitude, abundance of blessings, love, delight, joy, harmonious relationships with all who enter my life.... you get the picture. Tie the pieces of paper with your requests to the string on each balloon, and let it go into the night. Let it go, and then pay attention in the year to come to see how your requests will manifest. I don't know how they will come to me, but again, it doesn't really matter. All that matters is that I ask for it, and then get out of the way and allow the Universe to give it to me, however it will come.

I found this year that by asking and surrendering, amazing things can happen to transform your life, but not necessarily in the ways you expect. At the beginning of this year, I was praying for all the misery to be gone. I was done. And now, on the last day of this year, I can laugh. My prayers were answered. It doesn't look at all like what I imagined it to look like, and its still unfolding, but the truth is, I got exactly what I asked for: peace, calm, miracles and a great deal of love and support.

Happy New Year. May 2011 unfold in delightfully unexpected ways for you all.

The Guest House - Giving Thanks for Pain

2010-11-25T07:27:00.000-08:00

Its Thanksgiving morning, cold, crisp, with the sun just starting to creep up over the treetops. Its going to be a beautiful day. I'm sure there's many songs out there about this day, but none of them come to me at the moment.

Instead, I sit in the dark of my living room, candles burning, and Gregorian chants softly playing in the background. I let my mind drift back over the past year, and feel humbled by the deep sense of peace and calm that fills me. I truly understand the meaning of this day like I never did before.

A year ago, I was in the midst of a turbulent storm brought on by finally filing for personal bankruptcy. My life had shattered into a million tiny pieces, and despair, fear and chaos filled my heart and soul. I was grieving like I had never grieved before, completely at a loss, and standing in the midst of wreckage. I surrendered completely at that point. I could do no more, except cry and pray for an end to the pain.

A year ago today, I was reaching for the little things in my life I was grateful for: my sweet loving supportive boyfriend Bill, my close friends who hugged me whenever they saw me, my family who stood by me even though they didn't understand how I had gotten to the place I had, my snug little house that I wasn't sure I would be able to keep, and the wonderful smells coming from my kitchen as I prepared a Thanksgiving feast, excited about the gathering of friends that was to happen later that day, ready to share good food and company.

It was being thankful for those things that helped me weather that storm. The feeling of having your life turned upside down is indescribable. While I've never been through a natural disaster like a flood or hurricane, I can empathize with those who have been through it, knowing that feeling of losing your life as you have known it.

But it is precisely that feelings of being ripped from your safe harbor that is the gift, the blessing. If you had told me a year ago I would be looking back on bankruptcy as a blessing, I would have laughed in your face and told you you were crazy. But here I am, a year later, thinking exactly that thought.

That storm caused me to look at my life as I never had before, and admit that it wasn't working. I just didn't have the courage to change it. Its hard to change, when even what you're living with causes you misery. Even if it totally sucks, its still familiar. We know what to expect, and that is comforting. I wouldn't have voluntarily changed.

But here I am, a year later, still uncertain exactly where I'm going, but grateful that the nightmare forced me to reevaluate my life in ways that I never could have anticipated. There's a poem by Rumi that I absolutely love, and go back to time and time again which so eloquently describes this experience, called The Guest House:

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Today, as you celebrate with friends and family, have the courage to look at your life. If there is something that isn't working, look it in the face and say hello. Maybe its a gift that is patiently knocking at your door. Open the door before it becomes a force so big, you can't ignore it. For this lesson, I am deeply grateful.

You Ain't Nobody 'til Somebody Loves You

2010-11-13T08:21:00.000-08:00

I woke up with this old Dean Martin song in my head this morning "You Ain't Nobody 'til Somebody Loves You". Its a great song, and I love Deano's voice on this track. Its a bit of a misnomer though. While having the love of others is important, its really more important to love yourself first. You have to be the "somebody" in the song.

I'm not certain what started me thinking on this, except that last night was the gallery opening for my boyfriend Bill's paintings. It was a lot of fun, and the turn out was great. He couldn't be there because he was working (at Sacramento Tattoo), so I stood in as his voice for the paintings. People loved them, and the praise was genuine and heart felt, not just someone blowing smoke up my ass because they wanted to seem "cool". Many of our friends showed up in support, and it made me stop to realize once again how lucky I am, and we are, to have such an amazing circle of support around us.

Our friends came out to be part of this gallery opening to show how much they love us. Its as simple as that. In the world of punk rock, its really not cool to let on that you care about people and want to be there for them. But that's a big reason why I'm so done with this whole scene. I am sick to death of people always looking to see what's in it for them, instead of just being there for someone else, just to show you care.

But the interesting thing is, until you really start being there for yourself, and caring about yourself, setting your own boundaries about what you will and won't put up with, you don't really give others the opportunity to show their support and love because they don't really know where they stand.

When I was meditating about this this morning, this made perfect sense to me. Now that I try to put it into words, its seems a bit more confusing, but really, it isn't. Love yourself first and foremost. In the most humble but honest way, be clear about what you will and won't accept in your life. In other words, be ok with setting your boundaries and saying "no, that doesn't work for me". When you do this, it is the most loving thing you can do for yourself, but more importantly for the people around you. It makes it safe for those you care about to do the same thing for themselves. I have the most amazing boyfriend and circle of friends ever. A few years ago, I could never have imagined love and support like this. It was all about me turning myself inside out to make others happy and to give them what I thought they wanted. But gradually recognizing what didn't work for me and saying so has opened me up to this entirely new world and new way of living, and its so much more satisfying and fun!

Deano was right: just make that "somebody" who loves you yourself first. You'll be amazed at how much better your life can become when you do.

Let the River Run

2010-11-07T09:29:00.000-08:00

I just got back from a week long visit to New York to meet my mother's side of the family. Talk about mind blowing! I just discovered I have a whole lot of cousins and second cousins I had no idea even existed! It was exciting, and overwhelming and heartwarming all at the same time.

Both my grandparents on my mother's side came to America from Sicily. They passed through Ellis Island and settled in New York, some in Brooklyn, some in Manhattan and eventually out to Long Island and Staten Island. The history that is buried with my grandparents will never be recovered, and while I never got to meet my grandfather, I spent quite a bit of time with my grandmother before her death in 1983, but never thought to write down or record the stories before her death. Thankfully, my newfound relatives are able to provide many of the missing pieces and stories. I come from a family that is filled with dreamers, believing in the goodness and prosperity for all.

My brother and I spent the afternoon one day taking my mom around to her old neighborhood. Much of it is gone now, torn down and rebuilt, like the old tennament building my great-grandfather used to own, where all the family lived together in a tight knit community. But the church where she was baptized and married is still there, and the short walk down to the east river is still accessible. Suddenly, all the stories my mother shared with us growing up had a realness to them that I never imagined before.

We rode the Staten Island Ferry over to stay with my cousin for a couple of days, and I couldn't help but want to burst into the Carly Simon song "Let the River Run" from the movie Working Girl with Melanie Griffith http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cv-0mmVnxPA. The ferry is exactly like it was in the movie, and according to my mother, just like it was when she used to ride it as a child. I stood out on the deck and watched the Statue of Liberty as we floated by, and thought about that song.

I just rented the movie again last night, and felt like crying when the song played. My life is so similar, filled with the struggle to be heard, and taken seriously, and yet maintain integrity despite the best attempts of others to discredit you. I am a dreamer. I've always been a dreamer, believing in the best of humanity, in magic, in miracles. in treating others how I want to be treated. Always a glass half full sort of girl, always positive, no matter how crappy people were and hopeless the situation seemed.

Let the river run,
Let all the dreamers
Wake the nation.
Come, the New Jerusalem.

This song has taken on a new meaning for me for so many reasons. I really started to question my belief in the inherent goodness of people after the events of recent months. People I loved and cared about, people I trusted and thought were friends, are now believing all the lies and garbage being told about me. I really have examined my actions and words from this last year, and while I've made some mistakes, I never gave them reason to doubt me or not trust my integrity. And yet, they jumped to believe the worst about me. It was enough to make me want to quit and not stand up for myself. What is the point? They wouldn't believe me anyway.

Unlike the Melanie Griffith character in the movie, I don't have a knight in shining armor to stand up for me. I have to do that myself. I know deep in my soul I did nothing wrong. I have tried to reach out, tried to elicit a conversation and clear the air, but when the other party refuses, all you can do is know you've done your best and walk away. Let it go. Let the River Run.

This has been the situation over and over again this last year. Those who know me, truly know me, know what I stand for and believe in. They love me and honor my integrity. And those who want to listen to lies and garbage from people grasping for glory by putting others down, well, its their loss. The world is a sadder place for it, but one day, maybe they will see and hopefully when that day comes, they will have the guts to acknowledge their erroneous thinking. Me, I''m better off with the dreamers.

When I'm Gone

2010-10-26T08:17:00.000-07:00

It's been a few days since I've woken up with a song in my head. I haven't worried about it, it meant I got several good nights of deep healing sleep, which I was desperate for. But this morning, once again, there was a song, and it just happened to be from a band I put out a record for.

I Walk The Line are from Finland, and they're probably one of the best bands I've seen live. I am immensely proud of the record I released for them, Desolation Street in 2007 (Gearhead Records, RPM 071 www.gearheadrecords.com). Its dark and dreamy and melancholy, unlike anything else I've ever released, but speaks to my soul in so many ways, and is probably one of my favorite records I've released. This morning it was "When I'm Gone" that was in my head. I wondered why, since I haven't listened to the record for probably 6 months. And of course, I went and read the lyrics, and just had to laugh: it was there in black and white, (well, pale yellow and brown if you actually look at the record cover): all the internal stuff I've been struggling with these past few days. Here's the first line of the song:

You stuck a knife deep in my flesh again
You're twisting it around until I don't feel more pain.
You tore me up in pieces today.
I'm on the floor and you just walk over me
I don't know if I even care anymore
I'm beaten numb
I don't feel the pain at all

Dark right? But so intensely emotional, so hurt. People keep asking why I don't want to put any more records out, why I don't want to help bands anymore, and these words pretty much nail it in one fell swoop. I started this company because I wanted to help bands find a voice and get exposure. I wanted to use my skills and my talents to help them in a way they could never do themselves. I believed this so deeply in my core, that every single band I've signed, every single record I helped bring into this world, I believed this about. And almost every single time, it has backfired on me. And yet I kept going. Until now.

I had pretty much decided I wasn't going to spend my time and energy anymore on helping bands when I realized they didn't give a shit about me, or how their actions affected me. I realized finally that, while they said they wanted help, it wasn't really true. I was the one turning myself inside out to help people that didn't really want help. They were just along for the ride, driven by thoughts of fame and glory.

But there was one band who I thought was different. They seemed so down to earth, real people, wanting my help as much as I wanted to give it. They listened and followed my suggestions and guidance, until recently. And then the egos got in the way, like it always does. I've never lied to any of the bands I worked with; in fact, I was bluntly honest about the hard work it would take to move forward. I put my heart and soul into helping these guys, firmly believing we were a team working towards a common goal. But somehow, it all fell apart. They started believing things people were saying about me, and in turn, started acting like prima donnas. They were looking for something better.

It hurt, deeply. It is just like when a relationship breaks up, and you're left standing there going "what happened" ? There's nothing I can do to change their minds or fix this, and frankly, I don't want to. It is yet another blessing in disguise from the Universe, now freeing me to move on the way I had planned to and be free of the egos and irrationalities of dealing with bands and all their dramas. I am finally over it, and this was the proverbial "straw that broke the camel's back". I have no illusion or romance any more about this industry, and I can now wish them well, and walk away. I don't need this bullshit in my life. I'm much happier without it.

I was reading today's passage in the Al Anon book "Courage to Change" and interestingly enough, todays quote was about not letting others unkind words and criticisms hurt you, but to look to yourself for the truth: "If one throws salt at thee thou wilt receive no harm unless thou hast sore places" (Latin Proverb).

I don't need to let myself be abused by others, because I did my best, with true pure intentions. I can look at this whole situation and know I have taken the high road here, and let it go honorably and humbly. I am not beaten, I just choose to look at the truth of the situation and be grateful I can no longer be hurt because it doesn't matter any more. Its no longer my problem.

Life Uncommon

2010-10-19T07:58:00.000-07:00

I just got back from a weekend in Boise, ID where my oldest nephew got married. It was an amazing weekend, and Boise is beautiful, filled with a rich blend of deciduous and evergreen trees, charming little houses and shops, and ringed by spectacular rugged hills and sagebrush.

I woke up with the song Life Uncommon by Jewel in my head, the melody soaring through my brain, but I couldn't remember the words at all, only the chorus, "lend our voices to the sounds of freedom."

As I've shared previously, I often wake up with songs reverberating in my mind, and if I dig a little bit, there's always a message that's pertinent to what I'm currently dealing with. In this case, it was the gift of this weekend that was really resonating with me.

I come from a large family, 4 girls, 3 boys. I'm 3rd oldest in this bunch. When you grow up there is always the problem of reverting back to those assigned family roles when you all get back together, even if you're all adults. Its probably why so many people dread holiday gatherings, where they are instantly shoved back into the roll they played as a child, even when they're 50.

Usually, as much as I love my family, this is exactly what happens when we all get together, and it leads to anger, frustration, and the overwhelming desire just to get the hell out of this nightmare and back to my own life, where I can be me, in the real world, with all my real accomplishments and passions and abilities intact, waiting for me to pick them back up again.

This weekend was different though. I went to this wedding with the desire to really see, really hear, who my siblings had become as adults, and allow them that chance to be who they are NOW, not who they were when we were children.

How amazing to look at my brothers and sisters with those new eyes. Who knew my baby sister was such an amazing dancer? Who knew my oldest brother was so sweet and so laid back? I sit and play through the various conversations I had this weekend, and am so grateful for the gift of time and growth, and change.

So how does this song apply to what I'm going through right now? I had to read the lyrics to really get the message, but its coming through loud and clear. "Set down your chains, until only faith remains. And lend your voices only to the sounds of freedom. No longer lend your strength to that which you wish to be free from. Fill your lives with love and bravery, and we shall lead a life uncommon"

Above anything else in our lives, we want our families to be proud of us, to love us and validate the things we've created for ourselves as adults. Even if its not who we were as children. We want the ability to grow and change and become new people. But so often, we are chained to the past, to old roles and habits and expectations, unable to grow in the eyes of our parents and siblings, always and forever stuck at who we were in the past.

Forever fighting and trying to prove something to the people we love and care about. No wonder so many of us move hundreds or thousands of miles away from our families. We have to, just to grow up and become the new people we were meant to be.

I was able to look at my siblings for the first time ever, and validate who they are as people, separate from the family and the choices they've made to pursue the lives they desire. And I was able to validate for myself the exact same thing. I am no longer that little kid, stuck in the middle, invisible and aching for attention, for validation for something I created, like an amazing poem, or straight A's, or a world famous record company.

By letting go of the chains that tie us to the past, we are free. Free to love and grow, free to discover new things that light our fire, like a passion for cars, or for dancing, or a deep appreciation for poetry, or a sardonic wit. Or a new passion for exercising, or horses or whatever! Things that weren't even a glimmer in our childhoods, but now fill our adult lives with joy. By letting go, and giving permission to those we love most in the world to change, we allow each other , but most of all ourselves, to live a life uncommon.

Moving past resentment

2010-10-15T10:17:00.000-07:00

I am listening to "Chant" by the Benedictine Monks of Santo Domingo De Silos. Its beautiful, peaceful, ethereal. It perfectly suits the mood I woke up in this morning. For the first time in a long time, I am filled with peace. And I'm very grateful for this miracle.

I went to bed in a state of agitation last night. I fell asleep praying for help to just end this resentment and anger that has been boiling my blood for the last few weeks. I was so tired of it, and nothing I was doing seemed to help.

I've been reading many spiritual texts lately, seeking answers and understanding, and the common theme in all of them, Buddhist, Christian, New Age, Metaphysical, all seems to be forgiveness as a way of letting go and moving on. But how does one forgive something so egregious as betrayal of trust?

I was going through some pretty rough times back in 1996 when my then-husband was in rehab. It was suggested to me over and over again that I should begin attending Al Anon meetings to get some help and support. I went to several meetings, but couldn't take the whining, poor pitiful me attitudes of people who felt like victims. So I never bothered to go back. I could deal with this myself.

Its only been recently that I started reading one of the handbooks "Courage to Change." It makes so much more sense to me now, looking back at my life, the twists and turns that its taken, and the stuff that was "done to me". Only now am I realizing I've been living like a victim all these years, and when you're in that state, you'll never be able to move past resentment into forgiveness.

So it was with a great deal of ironic humor that I realized when I woke up this morning, I finally get it. The reading for today was on letting go of resentment, because it keeps you stuck in the moment of pain, stuck in the act of being a victim. But how do you forgive when you can't forget? When you stew in anger and resentment, furious that it has happened yet again?

I've had alot of really shitty things happen to me over the years: girlfriends stealing boyfriends, abuse, betrayal, being physically assaulted with a knife by someone I trusted and loved, lied to and cheated, taken advantage of....all by people I trusted... blah blah blah, the list could go on and on. We've all had this shit happen, but how we chose to deal with it is the real test of character.

This morning I realized I really could just let it all go, by simply chosing not to be a victim to circumstances anymore. I could forgive these many many people who have hurt me deeply, but by forgiving it, I was not condoning their horrible behavior. I was just chosing to no longer allow it to affect me in a negative manner. A meadowlark started singing outside my open patio door. And that's when the chanting of the monks popped into my head.

Their music is so incredible, so peaceful. I remember when this record came out back in 1993. It caused a huge stir in the music industry, hitting the top of the charts on the Billboard pop charts. It was all anyone could talk about. I was working at a record store on Haight Street, Reckless Records, and we couldn't keep this record in stock, selling probably 20 or 30 copies a week. It was insane. Of course, I listened to it at the time, but didn't get it. Who in their right mind would consciously put something that slow and boring on? It makes me laugh now to remember my mystification about this record.

I think its like wine. You have to grow up some and have some life experience before you can really appreciate a good glass of red wine. Or jazz. There are some things in life you just have to be a bit more mature to get.

Forgiveness is like that. This morning, it clicked. Just like that. And the Monks of Santo Domingo De Silos, their music makes perfect sense to me now. It is soaring, freeing, reaching skyward, to the limitless blue stretching above. Heavenly. Peaceful.

And that's what it feels like to finally reach this place of understanding, releasing the resentment and anger that has clogged my mind and soul. I'm done. Its gone. Those people who perpetrated these hateful acts have to deal with it in their own way. I'm done.

Downshifting

2010-10-06T08:13:00.000-07:00

As 2010 got under way, I began to realize that my life needed some major changes. The bankruptcy was the wake up call, but learning to apply that eye-opening experience to the rest of my life, not just my finances was more of a challenge than I thought it would be.

When you've lived your entire life pushing forward, following your passion no matter what, its easy sometimes to get lost, which is exactly what had happened to me. Have you ever been in a pool swimming, eyes closed, focused on moving yourself across the water with perfect over-head strokes, breathe, stoke, breathe, kick.... thinking you're going forward in a perfectly straight line, only to crash into the side of the pool, not realizing you had veered wildly off-course and weren't going forward at all? Well, that's what this last year has been like for me.

So as I started looking at my life, trying to see what was robbing me of my time, money, and peace, I realized it was the entire business I was in. The music business is all about forward motion: kick kick kick, stroke stroke stoke. Move forward, make a new record, never stop moving, never stop putting out or creating something new. There was always something new to create, something to prove. It wasn't until I celebrated the 10 year anniversary of my record company that I realized, that whole mindset didn't work for me anymore.

I had never stopped to enjoy what I had created, never stopped to be proud of the cool new record that I put out, that never would have existed in the world if I hadn't done it. I just never stopped!

Standing there, appreciating the people appreciating what I had created, I suddenly realized, I couldn't do this any more. I needed to stop swimming. It was killing me. And it wasn't fun any more. I hardly even listened to the records I had spent so much energy on. I started this whole company because it was fun, and music was my passion. It was never supposed to be about work.

So I conciously made the choice to downshift. I chose to close my store, although it was tremendously fun, and cute and successful, it wasn't helping me achieve the balance in my life I was seeking. I had to put out a tremendous amount of energy to keep it the way I created it, and the payback didn't really make the expense worth it.

People thought I was crazy, and maybe I was. But I needed to start eliminating things from my life that were distracting and pulling at me. I knew in my gut the store was the first thing that had to go. Next was finding a smaller location to run my business from.

While having the 3500 square foot warehouse was nice, and I felt "successful" for having found such an awesome place for such a good price, it too pulled at my energy constantly. I could never relax when I was there, never really get into the flow of the day. There was no sunlight, no fresh air. It was like being in a walk in cooler all day, and I was suffocating.

My new space is much much smaller, only 600 square feet, but its bright, filled with sunlight, with lots of windows that open for fresh air. I'm surrounded by beautiful trees and flowers, and vibrant businesses. And I continue to downshift. I've made the decision to no longer put out new records, but instead to focus on working with what I spent all this time creating.

Again, people are aghast. What, a record label that isn't putting out new records? What's wrong with you? You have such a cool business, how could you just stop? This seems to be the general reaction when I tell people what I'm doing. And its been a struggle not to get sucked back into the whole game, to not feel guilty for no longer wanting to "help" bands by putting out their record. I'm still getting sent lots of demos, and I still see bands play that I think, "oh, I could put out a great record for them."

But the truth is, I'm much happier no longer spending my time constantly explaining to new bands what they need to do to "make it" in this crazy industry. I am finally getting a chance to focus on the stuff I already did, learning to promote those records in fascinating new ways that the internet and digital age are providing. I actually have time to enjoy myself these days, to literally stop and smell the roses! I have time to spend with friends now, to attend weddings and travel!

My boyfriend's parents were in town visiting last week, and I was able to take a day off just to spend time with them, just because I could. And every Weds, the local farmers' market meets just up the street in a beautiful park, and I close up the office and wander up to check out what fresh fruit or flowers are available.

I have gone from 5th gear overdrive to 2nd gear, and I'm loving it. Life is so much more satisfying these days. I don't have excuses anymore to avoid meeting up with my friends for lunch, or to not go to a movie with my sweetheart. The slower pace has allowed me to start learning some new skills, pursue new creative ideas, and really really listen to the music that I have helped create.

I find my life is so much richer and more satisfying now that I've stopped chasing "success". I no longer have anything to prove. I am happy and content for the first time in many many years, and am grateful for the opportunity to just step back and let life and business flow around me.

Send a Message to my Heart

2010-10-05T08:14:00.001-07:00

I haven't felt like writing for a while. Its been a few weeks of turbulent self examination, personal inventory and owning that I have made many many mistakes along the way. I woke up with the Dwight Yoakam song "Send a Message To My Heart" in my mind, and I had to laugh at how appropriate those words are.

As I've written about previously, the end of 2009 saw me having to face the fact that my life was completely out of control. I was in financial ruin, and emotional as well as physical bankruptcy. Now, a year later, I can look back and acknowledge that this was probably one of the greatest gifts I've ever received. It was the frying pan upside my head that finally got me to let go of trying to control everything, and just surrender. I was done.

The funny thing is, as I look back over my life, it seems the only way my heart really knows when I'm finished with something is when its gotten to the point of extreme melt-down, pain, despair and hopelessness. Its the only way the message could cut through all the garbage of self-abuse, and ignoring reality. When my heart finally gets the message, "Enough is Enough" that's when miracles occur. But wow, I think I'm done with the drama now. I am ready to pay attention and get messages in a totally different way!

For example, when I was trying to decide about leaving my abusive marriage, I kept telling myself, "just give him another chance." But honestly, how many chances can you give someone? I'd lived for over 6 years with this crap, and while I am always the eternal optimist, I really needed to face the reality of the situation. It wasn't going to get better, no matter how many chances I gave him. And so I left. And while it was one of the most painful decisions I've ever made, and I felt like a failure, out of that decision I created a brand new life for myself by creating a record company, and a fresh new path. The phoenix rising from the ashes really was my life.

The same thing happened over again when things were not going well with my business partner, and we began chaffing at the restraints we were each imposing on eachother. Interestingly enough, that was also 6 years into the business when I finally couldn't take it anymore, and walked away. Again, the pain I felt was unbearable. I was frightened and hurting and again, started the self-abuse talk about being a failure. But out of that decision, I took some major chances that were incredible joyful, successful and fun, like opening my store.

And now here I am, a year after filing for bankruptcy, looking at everything I've worked for over the last 10 years go up in smoke. Boy, if you think the pain I felt over those first two scenarios was painful, let me tell you, bankruptcy is probably the worst experience I've ever gone through, emotionally, physically, psychologically. But again, as I get some distance from it, the whole thing has filled my life with tremendous blessings and gifts that I never would have been open to if it hadn't forced such a huge change in my life.

My life now is filled with peace, grace, and hope. I'm experimenting with creating again. I'm starting to try the fabulous things I've wanted to try but never had time to do because I was so focused on "saving" my business. And best of all, by letting go and saying "enough is enough", I've opened myself up to experiences I never imagined bringing into my life, and its wonderful.

That Dwight Yoakam song is really a love song, between two lovers who are separated by distance, but trust they are there for each other, no matter what. I'm finding that I've given myself that gift of love by starting to listen to my deepest inner voice. My heart always knew the right path, and now I'm finally getting the message and am allowing trust and faith to guide me. This next resurrection, the new phoenix rising, will be incredible, what ever it is. My heart will get the message.

May the Wind Take Your Troubles Away

2010-08-18T10:13:00.000-07:00

I woke up with "Windfall" by Son Volt in my head this morning. Actually, I woke up to a very loud crow cawing outside of my bedroom window, and as I slowly gained conciousness, the song started playing in my head.

As I've mentioned before, I often wake up with songs in my head and I've found that if I pay attention to the lyrics, there's generally some message there for me that pertains to something going on in my life.

I know this sounds really out there, but I've learned to trust it and not shine it on. We're constantly getting guidance from our surroundings in one form or another. It just takes us paying attention, and slowing down enough to "get it".

The song's opening lines are:

Now and then it keeps you running
It never seems to die
The trail's spent with fear
Not enough living on the outside

Never seem to get far enough
Staying in between the lines
Hold on to what you can
Waiting for the end
Not knowing when

Its from an album called "Trace" that came out in 1995. This record has played a major part in my romantic life over the years. The year this record came out, I was first considering leaving my husband. He was wasted all the time, out of work, and a real emotional drain. He was also verbally abusive, and I was losing all sense of myself. I went to Minneapolis for a week to visit my friend Mark about a week after this record came out. We played it over and over again, and I cried as I told him what was going on in my life.

Now what does any of this have to do with me today? Well, alot actually. The emotional space I was in back in 1995 was turbulent to put it mildly. I was getting a pretty strong feeling I needed to leave my marriage, but I was plagued with fear and guilt and "what ifs", knowing I needed to make some pretty major changes in my life, but too scared to take that first step.

Its a very similar state of emotional turbulence for me in present time. Fear has kept me stuck, kept me running in between the lines. Knowing I needed to step outside of what has been a safe if very unsatisfying existence, and take a chance on the unknown.

These last few days, I've come to notice that little voice inside that is judgmental and critical, popping up everytime I decide to do something that might piss people off, or worse, make them think I'm losing it. Fear is the underlying emotion that drives that voice. "What if you make a mistake" "What will poeple think".... that sort of stuff.

But I am seeing the only way to get those voices to shut up is to have courage and listen to my inner guidance that never seems to fail me, as long as I trust it and take a leap of faith. I'm tired of always doing what other people think I should, just because it will make their life easier. What about me? What about my life? What about what I want?

So I make a decision that doesn't work for other people. What's that to me? I have to face the fear and make decisions for me, based on trusting I know what's best for me. That's all I can work on. Me. I can't change what other people think, and I certainly can't make them be ok with the decisions I'm making. Its not my problem. They have to figure that out for themselves. So they make a really bad decision and think I'm supposed to turn myself inside out to make it right for them. Its not my job to fix other people's lives, and I don't expect them to fix mine.

Only I can do that. Only I can face the fear, trust myself and drive out side of the lines, my hands firmly on the wheel, with faith as my guide that I'm going somewhere new, and will leave the fear behind.

Roy Rogers is Riding Tonight

2010-08-09T10:08:00.001-07:00

For the last few days, I've been waking up with the Elton John song "Roy Rogers' in my head. Usually, there's a pretty clear message for me in the songs I wake up with, but for the life of me, I couldn't get what the message was in this song. I figured it was just one of those weird things that sometimes happens with songs, when they get stuck in your head for no obvious reason.

But once again this morning, there it was, foremost in my brain as I slowly pulled myself from a deep restful sleep. So finally, after coffee and listening to my Tibetan meditation CD, I put the record on.

Elton John has always been one of my favorite artists. When I was 15, he was hitting big all over the radio, and me and my best friend Chris would get together to play his records, make up dances to go with the songs, and practice playing them on the piano.

I was still taking classical piano lessons at that time, and was so taken with his piano playing that I talked my teacher into letting me play a song for her, hoping to move onto more contemporary music. Beethoven and Mozart were great and all that, but I couldn't really see how it fit into my teenage life. I wanted to play something I could relate to and share with my friends!

So, begrudgingly, she told me I could chose one song and play it for her, and if she thought it had value, then we could look at working on more pop music. I chose "Funeral For a Friend" since it had such great long complicated piano parts; I was sure she'd be impressed and we'd start working on new material right away.

I played with heart and passion and conviction; it was one of my favorite songs, and I really wanted to do it justice. When I was done, I sat back and waited expectantly for the praise I was sure was coming. Instead, I got such an earful of criticism and judgement, I almost cried. Needless to say, she swore we would NEVER work on pop music. I went home and told my mom that was it, I was done with lessons, and promptly quit playing for almost 30 years.

So how does the song "Roy Rogers" fit into all this? Well, first off, its on the same record as "Funeral for a Friend". They're almost book ends to the double LP, "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road", one opening the record and the other closing it out. I get the message now, having listened to the entire album, and remembering this story of playing for Mrs. Mitchell. Bless her heart, what did she know? She thought she was doing me a favor, and instead, she crushed my dreams of being a pop musician.

The song opens with the lines:

Sometimes you dream
Sometimes it seems
There's nothing there at all.
You just seem older
than yesterday.
And you're waiting for tomorrow to call.

Its a song of dreams that died on the vine, visions of a magical tomorrow that never happened because real life stepped in. Instead, you think back to what you longed for as a child or teenager and watch movies and read books about other people who had the courage to pursue their dreams, no matter what criticism they hit. Roy Rogers and Trigger became a big hit, despite all the odds they faced. This song is a man sitting watching TV in the dark, dreaming his unfulfilled dreams of childhood, sure that he has missed his chance, and has to accept the drudgery of his life, waking up, going to work, eating food that he doesn't like, and escaping to watch a cowboy show on TV, imagining himself dressed up in the spangled clothing of a rodeo star while his wife and children sleep in the next room.

How sad, and how depressing. Its never too late to change your mind and pursue your dreams, no matter where you are in life or what your circumstances are. Dreams are what makes like exciting, and magical and worth living. You can always pick up where you left off in childhood. You just have to have the courage to face something that you thought was dead in you, or something you think no way in a million years could you do that now.

Me, I'm starting to play my piano again. My mom bought me a used piano for my 40th birthday, and its sat in my living room for the last 6 years. I've touched it occasionally these last few years, but never wanted to really sit down and feel the love I had for playing. I was too afraid of the judgement that might follow. But these last few months, I've been playing a little here and there, and have even started singing again, although totally in the privacy of my home, when no one is around to hear me.

Up until recently, my boyfriend had never even knew I could play. I never talked to him about it, much less played in front of him. But a few months ago, he wanted to hear Ozzy's "Changes" so I dug up the sheet music and played it for him. No judgement followed, just enthusiasm. Now he wants me to teach him the chords so he can try too. Its become this fun thing between us to practice "Changes". Maybe soon, I'll even be brave enough to sing it while playing it. I get a good laugh thinking about that. Its never too late to reclaim your passion. Let go of the fear and go for it.

Waving, not Drowning

2010-08-07T09:15:00.000-07:00

Bill and I went to a water park this last Wednesday. I have been feeling so exhausted, so overwhelmed with the move, and trying to set up my new space and figure out what I was doing. Suffocating would be a better word. Have you ever been surfing and been hit by a wave that sent you reeling? Then you're caught up in the turbulence of the wave, like being stuck in the spin cycle in a washing machine, and you don't know which end is up. Well, that's been my life since I made the decision to close the store and start downshifting my business. I just couldn't do anything any more. My brain was on burnout, and I just needed a day away to play and just have some fun.

Excitedly we got to the park, uncertain what we would find, but eagerly anticipating a day splashing about in the water. I was a bit nervous, not sure how I would deal with the enclosed nature of some of the slides, since I had just recently become aware I have claustrophobia. But Bill was all gung ho and ready to just jump onto the first slide we came to and get the day moving. I made him promise we would start with the gentle slides first so I could work up to it, thinking that meant we would go on The Lazy River or the Wave Pool first.

But no, he headed right for the Half Pipe slide. It didn't look so bad, so I agreed, and we climbed up to the top of the stairs, each with our rubber floaty ready to go down the slide. I went first, totally oblivious to the terror that was about to seize my soul.

I sat down on the floaty and waited for the life guard to tell me it was time to go. I should have gotten a clue that I might be in for more than I bargained for when I noticed he was strapped into a climbing harness, with a rope fastened to the side of the security fence. It didn't really register until he pushed me off the edge of the slide, and I dropped straight down, with a scream erupting unvolintarily from my throat, conveying the sheer terror my body was experiencing.

I hit the bottom of the half pipe and shot up the other side, screaming like a maniac the whole way. When I hit the top of the other side, the rubber floaty plunged me back down again, backwards, another scream erupting from the depths of my lungs.

And then it was done, and I was sitting in the middle of a pool of water, laughing hysterically, and shaking and ready to do it all over again. I had found my metaphor for my life this last year.

And thus we spent almost 4 insanely fun, hysterically crazy, scary hours dropping over the sides of cliffs into pools of water, over and over and over again putting ourselves in harms way as far as our bodies knew, and ending up laughing and giggling like little kids. I haven't laughed that hard or smiled that much since I can remember.

I was writing about this in my journal just this morning, and it dawned on me that I have experienced this terror, this fear, every single day since I first admitted I was no longer in control of my life and filed bankruptcy.

Every day has been like being on a water slide, and sometimes those days have stretched into months of panic and fear. But always, 100 % of the time, when I have just given up and went with it, and let myself feel the panic, the terror and the out of controlness of it all, I have come out the other end, laughing, peaceful, and filled with gratitude that I could look back and see that I had the courage to face it head on. And when I did that, I always came out ok, and always with a resolution that was unexpectedly joyful and pleasing, and ultimately even better than anything I could have imagined for myself.

Yesterday, I had to go to Superior Court to answer a lawsuit that Bank of America filed against my company. There was that familiar terror and panic in my stomach as I drove to the courthouse. I couldn't do anything, knowing I was going to be plunging off a cliff, but also knowing that as long as I was honest and faced this challenge head on, eventually it would be over, and I would be looking back on this experience with hindsight now 20/20, seeing the remarkable grace that always comes when you get through the challenge.

I was nervous, and scared, but plunged over the edge when the judge called my name. I faced the charges with courage that came from some hidden source deep inside of me, and while I was screaming in terror (inside of course) I also knew at the end, there would be relief and even possibly laughter, and sure enough, the ending was a delightful unexpected surprise, one I could never have imagined but there it was. The case was dismissed. Grace. Blessings. Relief. Calm.

I'm starting to understand that life is always an ebb and flow. Challenges, hurt, pain, fear, scary situations come up. That's part of being human. But having the courage to face it head on and deal with the fear will always, without a doubt, end with blessings and surprise endings we never saw coming. And when you sit at the end looking back, you realize getting on that slide in the first place is what the exuberance of life is all about.

You've Got to Dance Like No One is Watching

2010-07-26T09:26:00.000-07:00

As often happens to me, I wake up with a song in my head. I've started paying attention to the song, and while usually its the melody that sticks with me, lately, I've been paying attention the lyrics. These last few weeks, I've had a Guy Clark song (written by his wife Susanna Clark) "Come From the Heart" from his "Old Friends" record on Sugar Hill Records. I urge you to go download this song from Itunes.

I dug out my record this morning to play, and realized why I've been thinking about this song. The chorus goes:
You got to sing, like you don't need the money
Love like you'll never get hurt
You got to dance, like no one is watching
It's gotta come from the heart if you
want it to work

Yet again, words I need to pay attention to as I sit here amidst the rubble of my life. My house is a disaster, with boxes of stuff I didn't move to my new office because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find it when I needed it. My whole work space is in complete disarray because I followed the inner voice that I needed to move, NOW, and so I did.

For some reason, this weekend, I decided I needed to paint my spare bedroom. I've been seeing the new colors in my mind for weeks, but I've ignored it. This is definitely not the right time for me to turn my house upside down too. People will think I've completely lost my mind. I think I've completely lost my mind.

But I went ahead and did it any way. I've hated the "popcorn" that was on the ceiling, so I scraped it off, despite everyone saying its dangerous and I shouldn't do it. But I did it anyway. And now, despite needing to really work on getting my office set up, and my home sorted out, I'm painting.

So why did I wake up with this song in my head? Welll, clearly, I'm learning the lesson of following my heart and my inner voice. And even when everyone around me screams that I shouldn't be doing this or that, I'm learning to just tune out the criticism and judgment and "dance like no one is watching."

Hell, I've been following my own internal rhythm since I was a child. I always knew exactly what I was supposed to do and what I wanted, even when I was very very small. I never questioned it when I was little. But as I got older, I started caring and worrying about what people would think about me and the decisions I was making, the clothes I was wearing, the music I was listening to. I stopped listening to my own internal drummer, and started listening to everyone else around me. And man, life started losing alot of the fun.

But this last year, as I've faced some of the toughest decisions of my life, I've realized I HAVE to start listening to myself. I have to start dancing like no one is watching, because this is my life, and I'm the one who has to live in my skin. I'm tired of living my life for everyone else. What the hell do I care if they think I'm off my rocker? I'm learning to laugh at myself, because I really am off my rocker sometimes, but that's part of the fun.

I cried when I played this song for myself this morning. Every single line of that song speaks to me, where I am right this very moment. It's all about trusting your authentic voice. Dance, like nobody's watching. That's life, that's love. That's the joi de vive. That's what makes being human so awesome. Going for something, just because it calls to you. Just because it seems like the right thing to do, even if everyone around you tells you you're crazy.

Thanks Guy and Susanna. I needed the reminder: "Its gotta come from the heart, if you want it to work." I'm off to paint.

I'll do it My Way

2010-07-21T09:22:00.000-07:00

As the song goes, "and now, the time is near... I'll do it My Way" I don't know exactly why that song popped into my head. Of course, ol' Frank sang this with conviction, and Sid Vicious sang it with sarcasm. Me, I'm singing it with passion. I've run my life so long doing things other people's way, its time I listened to my soul, and found out what my way even is.

I am just wrapping up 2 of the most intense months of my life. Other than leaving my husband, and breaking up a business partnership, the decision to close my store, and downsize my company has been intense, draining, exciting, frightening, and at times, gut-wrenching.

I made the decision to close as I stood watching all my guests help me celebrate 10 years of Gearhead Records. At that moment, enjoying what I had created, the community, the music, the food, the atmosphere, the whole package, I was able to detach and really look at things, and realize, I had done everything I set out to do, and then some. I couldn't top this, and I didn't want to. I knew right then, it was time to close this chapter of my life.

Making the decision was easier than the execution however. Closing down the store, dealing with vendors, customers, product and all the fixtures was alot bigger job than I realized. Thank God I'm an optimist. I always think things will go alot smoother and faster than they actually do. I've learned to laugh at myself though, because I'm always surprised when things are alot tougher than I imagined.

Once the store was closed it was time to deal with my 3500 square foot warehouse which has housed my record label these last 4 years. I had such big dreams when I moved into this space. Not only had I planned on creating a space where like-minded people could gather to share music, food and good company, I had planned on creating a screen-printing studio, and a recording studio. But dreams change, and the trick is to allow yourself to own the change and flow with it, or get stuck fighting it. And if there's one thing I've learned finally after all these years of tough lessons: when I see the inevitable need to change beckoning, I have to listen to my gut and go with it.

And so, this last week with the help of Bill, my boyfriend, and several really close, very good friends, I made the transition to my new space. I had spent almost a month boxing things up, selling stuff and trying to pack up 10 years of business, and in a few days, through brute force and sheer will and determination, we moved it all in 100+ degree heat.

Once the actual move was done, I had to clean the space, and so have spent the last 4 days cleaning and mopping every square inch of that warehouse. I was taught to leave a space better than you found it, and as a way of honoring the last 4 years I spent in my warehouse, I did just that. In a way, it was a way of blessing the place, and saying goodbye. I needed to do it all myself, despite offers of help. I needed this time to say goodbye.

As I cleaned each room, I let the memories flow, and sometimes the tears. It was a really good place for me to try and create what I thought I wanted. But as I cleaned, I realized I was in a way creating what others wanted. I wanted to make people happy. To help them realize their dreams. Helping them with the skills and knowlege I had made me happy. But it really was a way to not listen to my inner voice. I can own that, and as I cleaned, I blessed that "a ha" moment.

And so, yesterday I formerly closed this chapter. During the walk-through with the landlord, she was impressed with how good the place looked. And I was proud to tell her I worked very hard to leave this place spotless and better than I found it so the next tenant would have as good a place to work as I did. I was able to give her the keys and lock the doors for one last time and walk away feeling good.

I have no idea what is coming, or what these next few months will look like. Every one keeps asking me what I'll do, and I can honestly say "I don't know." But what I do know is I will take the lessons I've learned these last 10 years, and mindfully create my new life, listening to my gut, and not everyone else like I've been doing.

They Always Say You Can't Go Home, but I Beg to Differ

2010-04-30T17:39:00.000-07:00

I'm just getting back from a trip back to my hometown, Corvallis, OR. My parents still live in the house I grew up in, and while there have been upgrades here and there, the core of the house is remarkably just the way I left it all those years ago when I moved away.

Driving the 8 hours gave me time to think, to reflect, and even a chance to reconnect with an old lover along the way. So many memories flooding back, so many hurts, fears, joys and exciting discoveries that have come to make me who I am today. I just sat back and allowed the thoughts to flow. If you've been reading this blog, you know I'm on a quest to find the source, where it all began, and how things got so messed up. A key part of this question was answered this week when I went back home, intent on reclaiming myself from my past.

Walking the hills behind my parents house, the first thing I noticed was the beauty of the surrounding area: all the dogwood trees in bloom, mounds of azaelas, bluebells, tulips.... flowers and color everywhere, surrounded by the lush rich green grass that only can be found in a place as wet as Oregon. I hated that rain growing up, the cold, the damp, the gray. It permeated my bones and I could never get warm enough or dry enough. But I always had a deep love of the landscape, and the miracle of flowers that all that rain brought. Clue number 1...

I ventured around the neighborhoods I lived after I moved out of my parents house, looking at the old houses still standing, crumbling some of them, but still liveable. Just drinking it all in, allowing the thoughts to flow, knowing how much a part of me all this was. I visited Happy Trails, the old record store where I shopped for music. Its still there, holding on, struggling but surviving, navigating the newest version of the music industry, much as I have had to do with my label and store.

But the most incredible thing was going back to KBVR, 88.7 fm, and reconnecting with that most important part of my past. The old station manager is there still, Ann, and it was so good to see her again, and share my memories of how important the station had been for me. It smells the same, and while they've upgraded to modern digital equipment, and a playlist that doesn't even vaguely reflect the amazing history that once flowed onto the airwaves from those turntables, it felt like coming home all over again.

I met the new Music Directors, Caitlan and Han, and shared memories of the passion and commitment of my fellow DJs, the amazing things we were able to accomplish and the bands we helped break, all because of a passionate love for the music. And standing there talking with them and Ann, the old familiar excitement was churning in my gut. It was all about sharing something new and wonderful, turning people onto music that touched me in some way. Ann got out the video camera and taped me talking about what the station had meant to me, how in effect, my time at KBVR had changed the course of my life forever.

They even put me on the air briefly, talking about what things had been like. It was incredible, and it felt so right, with a mike infront of me, sharing with a new generation of kids the love and passion for music, and all the doors that could open for you if you just followed your gut. When I left, I was buzzing with the old excitement and passion that led me on the perilous journey of discovery these last 20 years, and caused me to put my ambitions of being an Ethnobotanist on hold.

I next walked over to Waldo Hall, the home of the Anthropology Dept. I stepped through those doors, and was hit even harder by memories of the past by the familiar smell of that building, of another passion that had gripped me so intently, I let it too shape my life. When I decided to major in Cultural Anthropology, I had no idea how much that decision too would shape my future. I went in search of my old professors, Bobby Hall and Court Smith, and while they have since retired, I shared memories of their classes with the secretary, who started in 1988, the year I graduated.

She remembered me because they had done an article for the anthropology newsletter, showing how you could apply an anthropology degree to just about anything, including the music industry. In its most pure form, I have been doing research these last 25 years in the field of underground music and punk rock, essentially applying all I learned studying cultures to the contemporary music industry. Who would have thought that!? I certainly hadn't made the connection.

It wasn't such an about face after all, my switch from Anthropology and ethnobotany to the Music Industry. I had found it, the source, of all I had done this last quarter of a century. It had all been about love and passion, following the various cool things that captured my attention.

I was able to bring my past into present time, a current context for the changes I'm now going through. Its not a spiritual crisis after all. Its more a spiritual "clearing", cleaning away the debris that covered the original intentions. Along the way, I got sidetracked but this trip allowed me to see that it was all just steps along the way. You can go home, you can find the true essence of your life if you have the courage to look.

Return of the Grievous Angel

2010-04-08T09:19:00.000-07:00

Fall in San Francisco is beautiful. It was September 1990, and the sun was shining through the fog that shrouds the city most of the year. The little house I was moving into overlooked the ocean, so more often than not, heavy fog, gray skies and wind was the order of the day. But in September, it was as if the heavens opened up, and smiled on the city. I was so happy to be away from the chaos of the inner Mission District. The salt air coupled with the sunshine was soothing and I soon settled into my new living situation.

There were two bedrooms upstairs and a third bedroom downstairs. We called it Brian's lair, since it was tucked away with its own bathroom in the back of the house. We rarely knew if he was home or not since he would creep in and out with hardly making any noise at all.

Harry and I each had our own room, but I slept in his room overlooking the weedy overgrown back yard. The kitchen was bright, also with a view of the ocean, and we would have coffee together in the morning before each of us heading off to our respective jobs. Getting into Haight Street from 40th Ave. was super easy. I could catch the Taraval street car at the end of the block, and take it all the way in to a stop right above Haight Street.

Working at the record store was a blast. I was slowly getting to know my co-workers, Michael, Sue, Jeff, Dave, Heiko and David, and we would each take turns playing records. I would often put on music I could sing too, especially old country records by Hank Williams and Johnny Cash. One day a copy of Gram Parsons' "Grievous Angel" came in, and I happily played it when it was my turn. It was one of my favorite records; the painful cracks in Gram's voice, the aching, bare emotion that filled the melodies spoke to my soul. I got alot of shit for playing country records in a store known for carrying cutting edge indie imports and rock records, but I didn't care. The music spoke to me, and that was enough.

During my days off, I was writing for Maximum Rock n' Roll, and had even been offered a spot doing the radio show. Tim had backed off harrassing me a bit since Harry moved out, and had started assigning me some really good records to review. I would sit in the basement surrounded by the MRR library, listening to the records taking notes and putting my reviews together. Then I would go upstairs and turn on one of the Macs that were available to work on, and type up my reviews, formated the way Tim wanted them.

When I was in college, personal computers didn't exist, so I did all my work on a type writer. Tim patiently showed me how to open a word document and save and print my work. I learned all my basic computer skills from Tim. When it was just us, he was kind and patient and funny. But when I was there with Harry, it was a totally different story. He would then become very brusque, critical and controlling, and it made me very uncomfortable. I was pretty confused by the ebb and flow of his attitude towards me.

Despite the strange behavior, he gave me some great opportunities, one of them being broadcasting live on the Berkeley station KPFA. MRR had been hosting a punk show since the late 70s on this massive public station, and maintained a very good time slot. The station broadcast at 40 thousand watts, strong enough to be heard down to Mexico and up to Alaska.

I was shaking when I took over the airwaves that first night. I don't remember what I played, and I don't even think I kept a tape of the show, but I remember being absolutely overwhelmed and excited knowing I could be heard by so many different people. Alas, shortly after my exciting debut, the station managers decided it was time for some changes (not because of me!) and terminated the show that MRR had aired for so many years.

Adjustments were made and a deal was struck with the Berkeley college station KALX to broadcast pre-recorded shows through them, so Tim set up a studio in the basement library of the MRR house and I continued to record shows to tape for broadcast at a later date on KALX.

It was a fun, but confusing time. Harry was still a "shitworker", helping lay out and format the magazine for print, and occasionally we would to to the MRR house together. I was being given opportunities to expand my visibility at the magazine, such as being given a "Top 10" slot on the front page, where select workers were allowed to list their top 10 favorite records for the month. I was still one of the only girls there, and the strangeenss of Tim's behavior t o me started to make sense when a beautiful girl named Suzanne came to work there.

All of the sudden, his attention was off me and on Suzanne, and I realized that Tim had been hitting on me that whole time, right under Harry's nose. I was totally unaware and so had not responded at all to him, which apparently was starting to piss him off. He had started doing weird things, like not leaving me tapes to record my show on, altering the amount of records he was letting me review and leaving me strange notes.

But when Suzanne arrived and the behavior just stopped, I instantly knew what was going on, and had to laugh. Here was a man some considered the "voice" of the punk world hitting on me, and I hadn't responded at all. I should have been totally flattered by his attention, but I was so naive that I hadn't even realized that's what was going on, and it was pissing him off.

I felt sorry for Suzanne, and we bonded instantly over the whole situation. She also was from Corvallis, and had been one of the punk kids hanging out around the coffee shop I had been managing. It was fun to get to know her in this new environment and we started going to shows together and hanging out at the MRR house. Suzanne handled herself so beautifully though, completely undeterred by Tim's advances, and using them to her advantage to get some leverage on the magazine. I was totally in awe of her and watched her hoping I could learn some of that poise that she possessed so effortlessly.

Communication Breakdown

2010-04-01T08:49:00.000-07:00

Deb finally arrived, and we all helped move her into the front living room that was to be her space. It was nice to have a girlfriend to talk to and share things with. By this time, I had started reviewing demo cassettes for Maximum Rock n' Roll. I wanted to write for the magazine, but there was a pecking order that Tim had set up. Everyone who was new had to start reviewing the piles of demo cassettes that constantly were being sent into the magazine, so I got a grocery bag full of cassettes to bring home and sort through.

It actually sucked pretty bad. No offense but at that time, anyone with a boom box and a blank cassette could record their band practice and send it off as a "demo". There were a few worthwhile gems that popped up and were worth writing about, but for the most part it was an endless supply of poorly recorded songs sent in by hopeful bands wanting to be discovered.

Since I wasn't getting to do the type of writing I wanted to, I came up with the idea of starting my own fanzine. I asked Deb if she wanted to help me, and she enthusiastically agreed. I decided to call it Lint Fit, after a line in the Newhart show, where the handy man tells Bob about a customer having a lint-fit in his hotel room. I thought the name was hilarious, and Deb loved it, so we started working on the first issue right away. One of my favorite Seattle punk bands, The Derelicts, was coming to town to play, so I scheduled an interview with them to be the first feature of the new 'zine.

Now at that time, Rancid was just breaking, and of course, since the singer called himself Lint, everyone I told about the zine thought it was because I was a Rancid fan. I wasn't. They were ok, but I had been a fan of his first band, Operation Ivy, and I thought Rancid was too one-dimensional with their Clash wannabe persona and no sound of their own. It sort of irked me, but whatever. People were gonna think what they wanted.

That first issue came out, and while it wasn't that professional, I was really pleased with how well the Derelicts interview had come out. Somehow during the time of putting that first issue together, Deb and I started having some communication problems. She felt that she had put more effort into the magazine and wanted to take it over and kick me out. Its all a bit fuzzy now, but I remember being furious at the time. I had started it, it was MY idea, and she couldn't just kick me off my own creation!

She had got a job working at CD Presents by that time, and lo and behold, the bass player Mike of Half Life was working there. She being included with a cliquey group of punks and it seemed to give her confidence to assert herself. I didn't care that much, so I let her have it. I wasn't so tied to the whole thing anyway since I had been asked by Tim to start writing "real" reviews for MRR. I had also started DJing for them so I had a place to focus my creative energy.

Mike also was writing for MRR, and we bonded instantly because we were the only ones who really liked the whole Seattle "grunge" scene and bands that were exploding out of that city. By this time, Tim had opened the volunteer record store Epicenter and I started volunteering there as well. Mike also worked there, and our paths crossed repeatedly between the magazine, the record store and the various punk shows that were happening around the city.

He was handsome and gregarious, and very charming. I told him how Deb had turned me onto his band and how I had played them on my radio show. He was flattered but also a bit egotistical about the whole thing. Of course I would play his band, they were great weren't they? Since he had left Pittsburgh to move to SF, the band was on hiatus, and he, like myself was looking for a new place to focus his creative energy.

By this time, Harry had moved out of the MRR house. It had gotten uncomfortable for him there because of me. Tim didn't like the fact that Harry had a girlfriend, and he made both of us feel very uncomfortable with snide comments about us spending more time on each other than on the magazine. Harry found a room with another punk from Gilman, Brian, out near the ocean. It was in the outer Sunset district, only 8 blocks from the ocean, and very suburban feeling with little houses all crammed right next to each other, but free of much of the city chaos that drifted over living in the inner part of San Francisco.

They had a spare bedroom open, and were looking for a 3rd room mate. I was pretty unhappy living in the Mission District. It was tense, crowded, dirty, and several very frightening things had happened, including someone getting stabbed right outside my bedroom window. I had called the police, and they just laughed at me, and told me someone would come to take my statement. I had stayed crouched in fear in my bedroom, alone in the house waiting for the cops to come, but no one ever did. My car had been broken into repeatedly, and I found empty syrginges in the front passenger side one morning along with yet another broken window. Walking home at night from work was always like running a gauntlet, and I was starting to unravel a bit.

The rent in the little flat was great, but the tension I felt was unbearable. Deb and I were no longer getting along and I was starting to feel trapped. I had no intention of living with Harry, but the lure of a $300 room in a quieter more serene part of San Francisco was strong. So I gave Lance and Deb my notice and told Harry I would move in with him and Brian at the beginning of the next month.

When You're Going to San Francsico, Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair

2010-03-29T09:41:00.000-07:00

This time, I arrived in San Francisco with no drama. The drive was fun and beautiful, and I was going to have someone waiting for me when I arrived. My new apartment was a ground floor flat located on the corner of 26th St. and S. Van Ness, right on the edge of the Mission District. Lance had already moved in, and when I arrived, Harry was there waiting to help me unload my car and get settled.

The flat was a 2 bedroom 1 bath place, with Lance taking the back bedroom off the kitchen, and I got the other bedroom, located in the middle of the long narrow flat. Deb would get the living room when she arrived, since it had doors that closed it off from the rest of the house. Lance was a sweet laid-back fellow with a Pooh Bear look to him; slight bulging tummy, a bit scatter-brained, but talented and kind. We shared the same birthday, Feb. 15, although I was a couple years older. What a nice coincidence! I knew we'd hit it off right away.

I got all my stuff moved into my room, and then went with Harry to get a burrito at Lighthouse Burritos right up the street. Since I didn't have a bed yet, we then went back to Harry's place. He was still living at the Maximum Rock n' Roll house, and it felt a bit awkward going back there, but Tim was welcoming, if a bit distant, and the rest of his room mates, Karen and John were friendly and welcoming as well.

The next day, I had several things I had to do, like find a job, and get a bed. I found a place that sold futon mattresses for $75, so I went and purchased one so I could finish getting my little room set up. Then I went out to familiarize myself with the neighborhood. Our upstairs neighbors, Hope and Walter, both were in the punk scene and Walter also wrote for Maximum, so I had more new friends almost immediately. I knew this time, my time in San Francisco would be a totally different experience, and I was excited and happy as I walked around the Mission, filled predominately with open air Mexican markets, burrito joints, and tons of street people. It was a bustling neighborhood, but also had a seedy quality that I would later come to realize meant I needed to be vigilant.

My bedroom was located on the side of the house, with a window that looked out onto a dirty alley way. There were alot of rough looking characters that hung out there, but I didn't think much of it. I was just excited to have a window with sunlight!

B.A.R.T and Muni, both public transportation systems consisting of buses and trains were just a couple blocks away, so I got a month pass, and headed out to go look for a job. First thing I did was head up to Haight Street to go apply at all the record stores there: Recycled Records (strictly used vinyl), Reckless Records, both new and used vinyl and CDs, and Rough Trade, the store opened by the British record label. I talked to people at all 3 shops, but Reckless seemed the most promising.

The assistant manager Michael told me to come back the following day when the managers Andy and Jude were there. He was impressed with my resume, and told me they were looking for people, especially girls to help balance out their male-heavy staff. I left feeling excited and confident, and spent the next couple of hours wandering around the infamous Haight St. neighborhood, people watching and window shopping.

I next headed to Noe Street where there were lots of restaraunts and another record store, Streetlight Records. I chatted briefly with the manager Mark, left a resume and headed out with a happy glow at how nice and friendly he had been. Directly across the street was a little NY style deli with a "help wanted" sign in the window, so I went in and asked about getting a job. I got an interview on the spot, and was promptly hired because of all my experience running the coffee shop. I had also worked in a deli while in Oregon, so they were confident I would fit in quickly.

I was put on the schedule, and came in the next day to start my training. I was shocked however when I realized the level of sanitary food handling was totally different than Oregon. The manager dropped several bagels on the floor while she was training me, and instead of throwing them away, dusted them off and put them back in the basket for sale! Whoa..... guess I wasn't in Kansas any more! Old dried tuna was scraped off the top of the tuna salad to make the batch look fresh, new potato salad was added to the container of salad that had already been there for several days, people moved freely from handling money to preparing sandwiches without washing their hands, and no one was required to have a "food handlers" license, proving they knew how to safely serve and handle food! We were allowed to have anything we wanted their to eat, but I didn't trust the food so I never tried anything, except the bagels when they came fresh out of the oven.

Thankfully, I only worked there a week. I got a call back from Reckless Records, and went in for an interview with Andy, and was hired on the spot. I gave my notice at the deli, and happily started my new job at Reckless Records a couple days later, getting full time hours right away! Michael was really sweet and handled most of my training, showing me how they priced and filed the used CDs and records behind the counter, leaving only the covers out for customers to look at. The theory was this would cut down on live product being stolen.

There was one other girl, Sue, who worked there, and we bonded quickly, both sharing a love of 60s garage music and fashion. She also helped show me the ropes, and shared many inside tidbits of information about my other co-workers; who was in what band, who had a girlfriend, where they came from, what their musical tastes were, etc.

My shifts were the closing shifts, so I had to catch a bus to get home after closing up at 10 pm. I took the buss to the station at 24th st and had to walk 2 blocks to get home. It was dark, and the streets were empty except for the homeless folks who populated the doorways of closed up shops, and the rough Mexican fellows who seemed to appear out of the shadows making kissy noises and calling to me in Spanish. I learned how to ignore these people over the next couple of weeks as I adjusted to city life and my schedule, but I knew I would never feel comfortable or safe until I got inside my little apartment.

Harry and I adjusted our schedules around each other , and soon I had some semblance of a social life between work, my room mate and Harry. Deb was set to arrive at the end of the month, and I was happy and dying to share all I had learned about the city with her.

I Was Born to be Fast, I was Born to Run

2010-03-28T09:52:00.000-07:00

It was wonderful seeing Harry again. Memories of how kind he had been to me in my last few days in San Francisco flooded me when we hugged in greeting. I was excited to introduce him to my friends and family, and to show him around my home town and some of my favorite haunts.

That evening we went up to my parents' house for dinner. My family is pretty normal I think, stern authoritarian Austrian father, bubbly vivacious welcoming Sicilian mother, 3 brothers, 3 sisters. We were a noisy bunch, and as dinner was being prepared, Harry sat back on the couch, trying to melt away from the din that was rising.

He too came from a large family, but seemed overwhelmed by mine. Of course my mom did her best to make him feel welcome, filling his plate with spaghetti and meat sauce. We all talked at once, and of course old stories of me as a child came up, and the various escapades we were involved in filled the air, along with laughter and a general good humor.

By the time we got back to my house later that evening, the look on Harry's face told me he felt a bit out of his league, but I got him comfortable on my couch and we watched some TV, talked and drank, and ultimately started playing records. Things felt more manageable at that point, and we planned to drive to the Oregon coast the next day.

It was breezy and cold but sunny when we got to Newport in the early afternoon. After walking in the sand and exploring the tide pools, we retired to the back of his truck where we started to mess around a bit. Kissing and giggling, it was fun, and it started to get a bit more steamy. He was a bit shy and reserved, and I started to get impatient, pushing him to take it up a notch. Clearly he was uncomfortable, so I gave up, and we headed back to Corvallis for some dinner and to meet up with my friends at Squirrels.

He was quiet and reserved again, but found the common ground of music to share with my friends so it wasn't quite as awkward for him as it was at my parents' house. He was planning on leaving the next morning to drive back to San Francisco, so we headed back to my place to spend some more time alone together. It seemed as if we were starting to get involved, and while I don't really remember the conversation, we must have agreed to give the relationship a shot.

He headed out that morning with promises to write and call every day. I was planning on moving back to San Francisco that fall, and was sure we could handle the few months apart while I put together my plan to return to the city.

True to his word, he sent me a letter shortly after he got home telling me how much he missed me, and I in turn was starting to feel a bit sad as well. He was sweet and shy, but we had so much in common; not only the love of punk rock, but a mutual love of camping, hiking, and nature in general. We discussed all this in our letters to each other, as well as sharing information about a new band he had joined called Cringer. He was the second guitar player, with another Maximum Rock n' Roller rooommate, Lance Hahn on lead guitar and vocals. They were starting to get alot of gigs around the Bay, including playing the infamous Gilman Street.

I was so excited to get a package in the mail with their first single, and I promptly took it to KBVR and played it on my show. Lance had a pretty sister named Heather who was apparently spending alot of time helping the band move equipment and get to their shows. Harry wrote about her, and I had this vague uneasiness in my stomach that something wasn't quite right there, but I dismissed it.

After several letters of this, he finally called me one night, and confessed that he and Heather had messed around, and he felt terribly guilty and pretty upset. He felt if I was there, things wouldn't have developed. I was pretty pissed, and felt very betrayed. He knew what my situation was, and that I would be moving there as soon as possible. It was a reminder of the other times in my life that I had been betrayed by someone I cared about, and I was furious and deeply hurt. I was ready to end it right then; screw that whole scene!

He promised to put an end to it, and told me Lance was looking for a roommate to move into his own place. I made him promise Heather wouldn't show her face around me if I moved in with Lance, which he said wouldn't be a problem. I hadn't met Lance yet, but felt confident it would be fine so made arrangements to move to San Francisco in Sept. Deb was planning on moving to the city as well, so we agreed to all share the apartment together to help cut down on rent.

September 15 1990, I packed up my car and again took my leave of Oregon, heading for the bright lights of San Francisco. My plan was to spend 2 years there, and then get ready for graduate school. I had said my goodbyes to my friends again the night before, and with a sense of adventure and anticipation for life in the big city again, I got back on I-5 and headed south to my new home and a reunion with my boyfriend Harry.

We're Desperate, Get Used to It!

2010-03-26T09:11:00.001-07:00

It was now Srping, 1990. My tastes in music was changing and growing, and that was being reflected in my radio show. I was starting to hang out with Deb Dupas more, who was really into the whole hardcore and pop punk scene. Of course I had been exposed to alot of that music through my friendship with Grant, another DJ whom I had become very close with. Deb was his apprentice, and he had schooled her well in mid-80s hardcore, which wasn't my scene, but I was willing to learn.

The energy of that music was intoxicating; raw angry aggreesive bursts of noise, clearly conveying the angst and rage that was buried in the soul of the singer. I had been in love with the whole early LA punk scene: X, Black Flag, Circle Jerks, The Middle Class, Screamers..... The hardcore scene was the same energy and aggression of that music, minus the melody which I loved so much. But I got inspired, and started playing hardcore on my show. I had a two hour show from 10 pm to Midnight, and I would try to cram as many songs as I could into those two hours.

Just a reminder, this was BEFORE CDs, so all the songs that were played on the air had to to cued up by hand, which was a laborious process. Pot down the channel of the turntable that was being cued up, put on the headphones, select a track, and then find the VERY beginning of that track by a process of moving the record back and forth across the grooves until you found the absolute beginning of where the sound was recorded on the record. Then, you had to remember how the track you were playing ended: was it a cold abrupt end, or did it fade out? If it faded out, then the next step was easy; just reverse the record a quarter of a turn so that when you hit start, you wouldn't hear the turntable picking up speed, and the ending track and beginning track would blend easily together to create the smooth seamless "segue" you hear on the radio.

If the track you were playing ended "cold", meaning abruptly, then starting the next record was more challenging, requiring a "cold" start. You had to start the turntable of the cued up track, make sure the channel was potted up to full level, then hold the record up away from the turn table, so that it wouldn't start playing as the turntable spun. Then, at the EXACT moment the track that was playing ended, you dropped the record onto the turntable, so it started right as the last track ended; seamless segue from cold end to cold start. This was my favorite style of DJing, because it really got the blood flowing.

Normal pop songs are about 3 minutes, so doing this dance of potting and cuing up the next track was easy. When you're playing hardcore records, its a totally different scenario. Most hardcore songs range from 30 seconds to a minute and a half, and most ended with cold endings, so if you lost concentration at all, you would miss your beginning, and have the dreaded "dead air"; a moment of silence during your set which was the bane of broadcasting live.

I still remember the feeling of power, and the exhilaration of those shows. I would record each track on a sheet which kept count of how many tracks I played during the show, each week trying to beat my last number. I think my best week was over 80 tracks in 2 hours, and that included announcing all the songs, the artists, giving information on the labels and bands, and reading all the required PSAs and station IDs.

By the end of my two hours, I felt like I had run a marathon, and was tired but satisfied, and ready to join my friends at Squirrel's, the local beer joint down on 2nd St., where we would meet each night to drink and talk and swap stories about the music we were listening to, the bands we had seen or our radio shows, and dream about building up the Corvallis music scene by discussing which bands were on tour and who might be willing to come through to play our humble town.

During one of those marathon radio sessions, I got turned onto a Misfits inspired band called Half Life from Pittsburgh. They were Deb's favorite band, so much so that she had painted their logo on the back of one of her jackets. I played their single "I Got it Bad...And That Ain't Good" on their air, and remember thinking, "well, its a little slower than some of the other hardcore stuff she's turned me on to, so it will be good to fit it into my show when I need a breather." I didn't think much more about them, but included their single regularly in my set because it was a bit longer than some of the other tracks I was playing.

Springtime unfolded, and I started thinking again about San Francisco. My one friend from my first attempt to move there, Harry, had regularly been writing to me and sharing all the news of the punk scene in SF. He had asked to come visit so we arranged a weekend for his trip to Oregon. It seemed like there were romantic overtones to the letters he was sending, and I was starting to feel like it would be nice to have a boyfriend. So I was looking forward to his visit to see if maybe there might be some amourous spark or not. That visit would change the course of my life in unforseen ways.

The Beat Goes On

2010-03-25T10:37:00.000-07:00

I was back in cold rainy Corvallis, but I felt great. I was surrounded by people who loved me, my family and friends, a good job, cute place to live, and a radio show that I lived for. Plus I had started writing again for my friends' fanzine Flaccid. Life was settling back into a comfortable predictable flow of late nights drinking, talking with friends, listening to music, and afternoons filled with running the coffee shop. I felt safe for the first time in a year. Plus I had tons of new music to listen to, and was making new friends and contacts with bands that were capturing my imagination.

I started a pen-pal relationship with Mark from Tar, a Chicago based band that had released a record on Amphetamine Reptile Records. I was able to share my deepest secrets with this fellow I had never met, but from listening to his songs knew he would understand what was going on with me. I had been toying with starting a record label called Sweet Sexy Suicide. I even drew up the logo (which I still have). I had no idea how one put out records, but I was obsessed with the idea. I had contemplated the darker side of life and emotions, and had had many friends take their own lives. It was not something I would have got to for myself, but after my experiences in San Francisco, I understood that despair and darkness that could lead one to that path. Somehow, combining those ideas into a record label seemed to make sense. Of course, I never got that far, but it was fun to write about to Mark.

Bands continued to come through town, but since there was no club to play at, house parties were the way to go. Coffin Break, Gas Huffer, Beat Happening, Fastbacks, Vomit Launch.... I can't really remember them all, but I do remember it was the way we all got together and got to see some of the new bands we were spinning on the air. We'd all chip in for a keg of beer, and pass the hat to get gas money for the bands. I remember letting Coffin Break crash at my house, and waking up with them on the couch, not really remembering how we all got back to my place. But it was fun and a great way to let off steam. For a brief time, some practice spaces opened up on 2nd street in an old warehouse, and a few of us from the radio station orgainzed to put on shows there, but that never really got off the ground.

Finally, the space above the biker bar The Peacock on 2nd street opened up for us to put on some shows. It was called the Top of The Cock, and one of the girls from KBVR, Deb Dubas, arranged for Screeching Weasel to come play. The place was packed with kids, and all of us from the station were there to help her and to see the band. I had my hand in a cast, having been hit and knocked off my bicycle a few days earlier by another bicyclist.

The place was jumping up and down and the band was really working the crowd. There was some dude there who was giving a kid shit, pushing him around and not in a fun way, but in a totally aggressive bullying sort of way. I stepped between him and the kid and politely told him to knock it off, that we didn't need any trouble here or they wouldn't let us put on another show. Instead of backing off and being cool, the guy pushed me, and threatened to hit me! Then he tried to reach over me and punch the kid. Here I am, 5' 2" tall, broken hand, completely taken by surprise at his reaction, pushing on him to keep him from landing a punch on the kid.

Thankfully, a bunch of my friends saw what was happeneing and dragged the guy off of me, and kicked him out. To tell you the truth, I don't remember the rest of the show. I guess it all worked out ok, because we were allowed to schedule some more shows. I came to the realization that I really liked going to punk shows as long as everyone was cool and just having fun. As soon as attitude got involved, I checked out.

Music in my Soul

2010-02-12T09:21:00.000-08:00

I was emotionally beaten up and physically drained when I arrived back in Oregon in the spring of 1989. My dreams were shattered and I no longer trusted my gut. Music had always sustained me, and had always provided a safe pathway for me to follow. But I didn't anticipate the follies of humans getting in the way and blocking that path, and worse, destroying the enjoyment of the one thing that filled my life. It was a pretty rough lesson, and I was bruised deeply enough that I needed to retreat to a safe familiar environment to heal and find the magic again.

I rented a cute little 1 bedroom 1 1/2 bath semi-furnished apartment for $175 a month on 4th St. in Corvallis in a rambling old boarding house filled with age and memories of glorious days gone past. The rooms had 12 ft. high ceilings, crown moulding, darling little built in amenities like a breakfast booth, and tall windows that let lots of light in. Plus alot of my friends lived in that building, so I'd have lots of company when and if I needed it.

I became manager at The Beanery, the local coffee shop that made fresh roasted coffee a staple for so many college students and faculty. It was fun, and easy, since I knew the place inside and out after having worked there full time as I was pursuing my B.A.

I started DJing again at KBVR, playing the best of underground punk and garage that I was constantly digging up. It was safe, but fun, and was like a balm to my soul. Whew, I still loved music. It would still sustain me in my time of need.

I remember when I first fell in love with rock n' roll like it was yesterday. I've told this story to close friends, and I shared it with a collegue the other day, who encouraged me to write about it. To know the exact moment when you fell in love with something that would change the course of your life is an indescribable feeling.

I was 7 years old, and the TV was on in the basement room of my parents' house. There was a KTel commercial on for Creedence Clearwater Revival (remember those old commercials?) It was one of those where they are selling a "best of" record for the band, and in-between the songs were live clips of the band playing. The song that they were highlighting was “Traveling Band” and there’s that break where he sings “Playing in a Traveling Band,” and then let’s out that primal scream. I still remember it like it was yesterday, looking at that TV screen frozen forever a moment in time. Electricity bolted through my body, and I was in love. The image was of John Fogerty silhouetted against a backdrop of red stage lights, screaming into the microphone is burned into my soul forever. I was hooked. What the hell was that, and what just happened?

I go back to that moment over and over and over again. Back in 1989, as I was trying to find where my music, my soul was, I would pull up that feeling of electricity as I searched for new records to play on my show. Whenever I got that jolt, I knew it was a record I had to play for my listeners. I had a good job, with decent pay and health benefits, so I was spending all my spare time and money shopping for records when I wasn't hanging out drinking with my friends. It was a healing for me, a soothing of my battered soul, reminding me the magic was still there, even if I had temporarily lost sight of it.

Today's Challenge-Look to Your Own Backyard

2010-01-28T10:37:00.000-08:00

As most of the world watches, the devistation in Haiti continues to unfold. I feel much helplessness and compassion as I imagine what it would be like to go through something so life altering. But, unlike many others, I have not contributed to any relief funds. Why? Because I realized that a few dollars from me is not going to have the desired effect of fixing all this upheaval for those unfortunate people. Instead, I have chosen to focus on my own backyard.

First off, there is still incredible destruction and poverty for the people of New Orleans affected by Hurricane Katrina. What about those people? Why is it we must rush to fix something half way around the world when there is still devastation in our own backyard from our own natural disaster? It boggles my mind.

I've never been to Haiti, and have never planned on visiting it. But I have been to New Orleans, and hope one day to get back to that amazing city. I don't know anyone who lives in Haiti or who is from there, but I do know people who live in New Orleans still and who are from there who still have families there. I donated to relief efforts for New Orleans and also for the people of New York who were affected by 9/11. I don't have much, but I gave what I could, because those situations affected me directly. They were in my own backyard.

But even closer to me, and to us, is the poverty and devastation in my own community. Have any of you ever paid attention to what's going on right in your very own neighborhood? I see the homeless men and women on the street corner begging for change, for food, for a job, for relief of some kind. These are not drug dealers or junkies or drunks- these are real people, who have been affected by real life situations, and I can make a difference. The saying is "It Starts At Home". Have you ever thought what that really means?

I have. Alot. I'm in uncertain economic circumstances myself, but every day, I wake up and thank God for the gifts of abundance I do have in my life: a loving supportive boyfriend, family and friends who would do anything for me, a warm dry cozy little house, plenty of food to eat, my health and vitality, my mind, and lots of stuff to keep me entertained, like music and TV.

But financially, I have always felt lack, scarcity. Sure, I would do fund raisers for the local food shelter, and for the women's shelter that helped me so much when I was trying to leave an abusive marriage. But honestly, the money I helped raise didn't come directly from my pocket, although it came from the energy I exerted on behalf of the fund raising for those groups.

And I had to challenge myself: I have so much in so many ways. What if I was able to find .50 cents a day and donate it to someone who's life I could really see and touch, someone who needed help, but are invisible to the broader population. So many are so focused on the big picture, they don't even see what's right in front of them, every single day.

I realized I could make a difference. There is an old man named Otis who sits outside the post office in Woodland each day, rain or shine, with a sign that says "Hungry. Please Help". Like so many others, I have been conditioned to smile, briefly acknowledge him, but walk past, assuming my money would just go to booze or drugs. But one day, I had some extra left overs that I was going to stick in the freezer, and I realized, maybe he would appreciate them. So I brought them to him, and introduced myself, and asked him his name. He was hard to understand because he had no teeth, and had trouble talking. But we chatted briefly, and then I offered him the left overs. He was so grateful, and the sense of having helped someone instantly was incredible. Over the next few weeks, I kept bringing him food, and when I didn't have anything, I would still stop and chat with him.

These last couple of weeks, we've been hit with a torrent of rain, and Otis wasn't sitting in his usual spot. I prayed he was safe and dry. When he reappeared, I stopped to talk to him to find out how he was and where he had been during the wet weather. He had found an overhang, and had holed up there. The local shelter was full, and there was no space for him. I really had to look at him as he spoke, and realized, I was assuming I was making a difference in his life by giving him food when I could. I had never asked him what he really needed. How arrogant I was!

So I asked him. "What would most help you?" Just like that. And he replied, "Food and money. Sometimes I can get enough for a room" And that's when I decided I needed to start sharing what money I could, so he could determine what he needed, when he needed it. Its not much, .50 a day when I see him, but he's always grateful for it, and always says thank you. I am making a difference in a very small way to the people in my community. My belief is that by taking care of what is directly in my backyard, in my day to day life, we can heal our broken communities one person at a time. It doesn't seem like much, but think about it. That will spread if we each take responsibility for our own homes. And eventually, one community will be healed and healty. And then the whole state. And then maybe to the rest of the US. And only then, can we make a difference helping those half way across the world.

In his own way, even though he has no idea about this, Otis is helping me heal from my own sense of lack and helplessness. He's helping me to learn that I do have plenty to give, and I can see that benefit right in front of me. I can make a difference in devastating circumstances, even if its not on a large world scale. I can make a difference in my community. And in its own small way, that helps the people of the world. This is not selfish, this is taking one small step at a time, and really making a difference. Its too overwhelming if you keep looking at the whole problem. But breaking it down into these very small, very real steps, miracles can happen.

Here's my challenge to you: identify one small step you can take today in your own life, backyard, community, whatever. Something you can see has a positive effect on those who directly impact you on a daily basis. Start small, like giving someone a smile and saying hello, helping somebody carry a bag, or lift something. Or if you feel abundant, helping one person by getting to know them, and giving them what they need, just for today. And if you can do it one day, maybe try it again tomorrow. Like ripples on the water when a pebble is thrown in, the Dalai Lama reminds us that we can have an effect on the bigger picture, but it has to start at home. As Ghandi says "Be the change you wish to see in the world."

Giving up, or regrouping?

2010-01-15T09:41:00.000-08:00

It was the day before I was set to move back to Oregon. The morning in May 1989 dawned bright and sunny, something very rare in San Francsico's generally foggy climate. The Blacklist party had been fun, but I knew I was gonna have to spend the day cleaning up. I didn't regret inviting everyone over though. It was a way of throwing myself a good bye party without actually having to tell anyone I was leaving.

I got up and made some coffee, and as I was sitting down to drink it, and get my head together so I could clean up the disaster that was the living room, I noticed there was someone sitting out on the curb in front of my flat. It was Harry. He had come back to help me, just like he said he would. I was so shocked, at first I wasn't sure what to do. One of the things I had figured out early on about most punks is that very rarely do they follow through on the things they say they're gonna do. Most people in "the scene" were flaky to put it mildly. So seeing him sitting out there so early really threw me for a loop. I opened the window and shouted out to him. He looked up with a big smile on his face and started up the drive way.

When he came into the house, I offered him some coffee and asked him what he was doing there, still not believing he was there to help me. But he was. He had promised to come back and he had been sitting out there for almost an hour waiting for me to wake up. I was touched by how sweet that gesture of enthusiasm was and gave him a big hug of thanks. With the extra pair of hands, we had the house cleaned up in no time, and decided to go get some Chinese food, which both of us agreed was one of the best things for a hangover: spicey, greasy and really filling, but easily digested.

We laughed and talked, and shared more about ourselves. I told him I was leaving the next day to move back to Oregon, and he truly seemed sad. I had to laugh as I told him I had been there 9 months wanting to connect with people, but finally felt like I had to give up, admit defeat and surrender to the fact that maybe I wasn't a city girl after all. We had so much in common. Both of us came from large Catholic families and had similar work ethics and political opinions. We both liked so many of the same bands, and yearned for something deeper and more meaninful in our lives.

As we parted ways, we agreed to stay in touch. This of course was before the days of email and cell phones, so we were gonna have to do it the old fashioned way, through letters, personal visits and the occasional long distance phone call. We hugged good bye and he walked off down the hill to catch the bus back home. I went inside to start packing up my personal belongings.

As I loaded my car the next morning, getting ready for the 10 hour drive back to Oregon, I was filled with a deep sense of sadness and loss, but also relief. I felt like I had been defeated, like the city had beaten me, and I was going home with my tail between my legs. Dreams crushed, soul weary.

But on the other hand, I couldn't wait to get home to see all my friends and family, and to feel the peace of being some place familiar. I was just gonna have to accept that I wasn't ready for such dramatic changes, but I had sure learned alot about myself, and in the end, I had made several good friends. All in all, it had been worth it, and I didn't regret giving it a shot.

As I headed back over the Bay Bridge towards I-80 East, I looked into my rear view mirror, and blew the city a kiss good bye. I had given it a my best, but now it was time to go home, to a place where I could heal and regroup, and figure out what the next step would be.

Facing the Changes

2010-01-10T09:39:00.000-08:00

There are many songs about changes, but probably the two most popular ones, and certainly two of my most favorites are David Bowie's "Changes" and Ozzy Osbourne's "Changes". They're both deep, soul searching songs, but looking at very different changes we face as humans. Bowie's is about having the courage to look at life changes, changes in one's being, while Ozzy's is about changes in relationships. Both of these resonate so strongly with me right now, and I have to play them over and over again.

When you have the courage to face life changes, it's inevitable that relationships change too. Sometimes that means the end of relationships as you realize where you are now just doesn't work anymore as a friend, lover, teacher, boss or whatever that relationship is in your life. Those old relationships have reached the end, and its time to gracefully let them go, so new ones can come into your life.

And sometimes, the changes strengthen and deepen relationships with those most meaningful in your life. And that's when you know you're on the right path. By having the courage to look at who you are, at this very moment in time, you invite possibilities of something deeper, more fulfilling into your relationship with yourself, your lover, your co-workers or employees.

Its a frightening place to be. You are vulnerable, and open to hurt. I watched one of my favorite movies "Good Will Hunting" last night. It was exactly where I was at emotionally. I remember when that movie came out. I was working as a sales person at Mordam Records, and I was head over heals into the Elliot Smith records that Kill Rock Stars had put out and we were selling. He was just starting to get some traction on those records because of the movie, and when we all found out that he was nominated for an Oscar for the soundtrack, we were so proud and excited because he was ours.

I felt a very deep connection with Elliott because of those vulnerable, painful, achingly beautiful songs about changes he was facing. I remember meeting him when he played in San Francsico. It must have been 1994 or 1995, because I was still married. He was so shy, and it was painful to talk to him. I got the sense of a very damaged, very fragile soul, trapped inside that body. Alcohol and drugs resonated from him. Of course, my husband at the time and Elliott connected right away, probably because they were both such similar tortured souls. But the impact those songs had on me when he played will never leave me.

When we watched the Oscars that year, and Elliott came out on stage with the other nominees, we cheered. There was one of our own, uncertain and fragile in his rumpled ill-fitting white suit. I dont' remember who the other nominees were besides Madonna, but bless her, she grabbed Elliott's hand and held on. He looked so relieved. He didn't win, but that moment will be burned in my mind forever. And of course, it catipulted him to a whole new level in his career. Changes it now is clear looking back he wasn't ready to face.

As I watched that movie last night, and sang along with the songs, it brought so much of that time back to me. But it also made me realize how much like Will I am right now too. I've built a wall around myself with my business. I've created this image that no longer fits where I'm at, but the challenge of facing changing all that is overwhelming. Risking damaging the relationships that have been stable and constant for these last 10 years, that's a scary place to be. Some won't survive. And some will endure and deepen and change to something all together different, but wonderful. Having the courage that Matt Damon's character finally grasps in "Good Will Hunting" is what I most want right now. And like Elliott Smith, having the courage to walk out on that stage, uncertain, unsure, but open to the possibilities is also something I am looking at. But unlike Elliott, I think I'm ready to face the changes that are coming.

A New Year's Eve Cememony

2009-12-31T10:06:00.000-08:00

This New Year’s Eve is a Full Moon, but more importantly, it is a Blue Moon, meaning the second full moon in a month. This usually occurs once every 2-½ years, and the last time a blue moon occurred on New Year’s Eve was 1990. The full moon is a time for releasing or purging the things in our lives that no longer serve us such as addictions to food, drugs, alcohol and smoking, or relinquishing suffering involved in hurtful relationships, feeling like a victim, and discharging emotional pain in any way.

It is a time to look at what we’d like to change in our lives so we can move forward towards a more positive future. Tonight, create some time just for yourself, or share this with a loved one whom you feel safe with. Find a quiet spot to sit and look back at 2009. It was a rough year for many of us, but by thinking about things in a neutral way, you will be able to see the blessings and lessons buried in the ups and downs of the past year, and more clearly see what you’d like to create for the New Year. Take a moment to write down the answers to questions below. It will be a very insightful way to let go of the old year, and great the New Year. Happy 2010. May this New Year be filled with Peace and Prosperity for you all,

Love Michelle

What people mattered most to you in your life this year?

Do you feel they were supportive of you this year? If not, what can you do or say to bring more supportive people into your life?

What do you feel was your greatest accomplishment this year?

What do you feel was your greatest challenge or difficulty this year?

What lessons do you feel the challenges taught you this year?

What patterns in your life do you think kept you stuck?

What positive quality do you feel you best expressed this year?

What negative quality most stands out for you about yourself?

If you could forgive something in your life, what would it be? Would it be a person? Would it be you?

What limiting beliefs or habits do you notice about your life? Are you ready to leave these behind in the New Year? If not, what steps could you take to change these old habits?

Write each of these down on a piece of paper. Put them in the fireplace, and burn them if you can. If not, shred them, or rip them into little pieces and put them in the trash. Out with the Old, make room for the New!

What new things would you like to bring into your life in the New Year? Is there room in your mind, heart or soul for these new things?

What new things could you do to deepen your connection to the people who matter most to you?

What one thing could you do in your life to better the lives of those who matter most to you?

What are your positive intentions for the New Year? (This is sort of like what good things you’d like to pursue). It could be anything, like giving yourself more time to play, vowing to smile more, or give someone or yourself a compliment each day….

What would you most like to change in the New Year?

List 3 things that you’d do if you had unlimited resources. This could be travel, writing a book, taking flying lessons…. Anything…. Dream big here and write it down!

The Party

2009-12-24T10:22:00.001-08:00

I was depressed, and I was starting to feel suicidal. Not in a real way, like I was in imminent danger of killing myself, but I was starting to understand how people got to that point. It was spring 1989, and I realized I needed to be around people who knew me, loved me, and would help me find my balance again. I made the decision to return to Oregon. Things were so difficult in San Francisco.

I was barely making any money, I had not developed any close relationships as I had hoped, and honestly, I wasn't so sure I was cut out for big city life. Sure, I had seen a ton of amazing shows, bands that I never would have gotten to see if I still lived in Corvallis. But I wasn't so sure that was worth the trade off anymore. About the time I decided to move back to Oregon, Blacklist Mailorder was getting ready to celebrate their 1 year anniversary with a party, but they were having trouble finding someplace to hold the party. I volunteered my house. It was certainly big enough for a party, and I didn't have any room mates I had to worry about bothering.

So plans were made, and word went out. It was supposed to be a private, Blacklist Volunteers only, BOB, and bring munchies. It must have been May 1989, because I only lasted in SF for 9 months the first time. Ruth Schwarts showed up, and a number of other volunteers, people I had seen at the warehouse and chatted with, but didn't really know well. Harry came too. It was fun, probably about 15 people in all. I really enjoyed myself for the first time since I had moved to the city. People chatting, drinking beer, eating chips and dip, listening to music, just hanging out.

Around 11 pm there was a knock on the door. I opened it and Billy Joe and Mike from Green Day were there, saying they had heard there was a party and could they come in. The band had just released their first 7" "1000 hours" on Lookout Records, and Blacklist was selling it. I had seen the band play several times at Gilman Street (and had seen them when they were still calling themselves Sweet Children), so I knew who they were. I told them it was a private party, and they were not welcome and sent them on their way. I have to laugh about this now, but at the time, I didn't want anyone I didn't know in my apartment. After all, all the furnishings weren't mine, and I didn't want to risk the classic party "take over" one sees so often in the movies. I didn't know the SF scene, and just wanted to keep things small.

They were bummed, but left without a fight. I went back to the party, which was getting pretty raucous by this point as more alcohol was consumed and the music was turned up. The party lasted until about 1 am, when everyone slowly started heading out. When everyone was gone, except Harry, I surveyed the damage. The house was filled with garbage and empty beer bottles. It was gonna take me some time to clean it up, and of course, no one there at the party had offered to help. Harry was so sweet, he offered to come back in the morning to help me clean up, so I just left the mess, and after Harry went home, I crashed. It was fun, but I was glad it was over. I was leaving for Oregon in two days, and I couldn't wait to go home.

Back to the story...

2009-12-20T09:31:00.000-08:00

Ok, after my brief personal detour, its time to get back to my story about how I got where I am today with my business, Gearhead Records. So its 1989, and I had just quit my job at Pepsi and my attempt to fit into the corporate office world. It really wasn't for me. The Mint Platter took me back in an instant, and I was back to working full time at the record store, pricing used records and the occasional CD (remember, this was before CDs were affordable, so it was rare to find them used), listening to music, and trying to find a way to connect with people in San Francisco and make some friends. When I lived in Oregon, I used to order records from a mailorder company called Black List. They were a volunteer organization, run by some of the San Francisco punks, including people from Mordam Records, Maximum Rock n' Roll Submerge Mailorder, nd Alternative Tentacles. I figured this would be the best way to find people with similar interests, so I went down there to see if I could volunteer. They needed help badly, so after work at the record store, I would go to Black List and pull records and package up orders before going home. But here's the funny thing: no one talked to me! In fact, no one talked to eachother! I would try to make conversation, try to get to know the people working there but it was like talking to a wall. Everyone was very focused on doing their work, and not socializing. It was really frustrating. There was one very sweet man there named John. He was a bike messanger, and we would have philosophical chats occasionally. He was really handsome, and I developed a crush on him. I found out later he was gay.... At least working there, I was finding out about shows that were happening in the city, and where the cool punk clubs were. One night No Means No played, and I got to hang out with Ruth from Mordam, Tommy Strange and several other SF scenesters. I met Harry Sherrill who worked and lived at the Maximum Rock n' Roll house, and we started to strike up a friendship. One night I went to see Gwar. It was at the Covered Wagon Saloon, and the place was about half full. I managed to get right up to the stage and got covered in green Gwar Slime. It was alot of fun, and I didn't feel so alone. But I still was. I didn't have any friends to go hang out with, or just call up and chat with. So I continued working at the record store, going to Black List and trying to connect with people. I was getting depressed though, and very lonely, and was starting to feel very isolated. Harry told me that there was a room opening up in the Maximum house, and it was mine if I wanted it. The rent was right, $200 a month, and I thought maybe if I lived with people, friendships would develop and I wouldn't feel so isolated. So I took the room, and started to move everything out of my cheap 2 bedroom lonely flat. I showed up at the Maximum house with a car full of stuff (I had got a new used car by then, one my dad found for me in Oregon). When I started to move things in, I just assumed people would help me, but no. I still remember walking in with a bunch of boxes, struggling not to drop everything. Tim Yohannon was sitting in the living room with Lily Braindrop, one of the columnists for the magazine. They just stared at me. They didn't even say hi. I felt very awkward, and introduced myself and told them I was moving into the spare room downstairs. They said oh, and just went back to doing what they were doing. No one else was there, so I moved almost all my boxes in from the street by myself. At the very last load, Harry and John Yates (who later started Allied Records) came home and helped me move the last of my stuff in. But it was a miserable welcome for me in my new home, and I ended up not staying the night, but went back to my now empty flat, and spent the night there, feeling worse than I did before. I realized I had made a mistake, and that I was not going to feel comfortable living at the MRR house, so the next day, I called Harry, and told him I was going to move back out. He helped me pack all my stuff up and leave. The other people there just watched me leave, much like the day before when I had moved in. No one moved a muscle to help, or make me feel welcome, so I knew it was the right decision. To this day, I hold the record of living the shortest amount of time at the Maximum house. It makes me smile now, but at the time, I was miserable. And so lonely. Maybe I had made a mistake moving to San Francisco after all. I was broke, depressed, and getting a little bit scared. It was probably time to admit defeat and move back to Oregon.

At The Crossroads again

2009-12-19T09:20:00.001-08:00

Only those very close to me know what I've been going through this past few months.I've hinted at the struggle, but was so ashamed to admit it. I got my bankruptcy discharge today. Yes, I had to file personal bankruptcy, and it has nearly ripped my insides out trying to deal with this. The struggle with the shame, the feelings of grief, and the biggest one, feeling like a failure, have haunted me these past 4 months. I put everything I own, and everything I am into pursuing a dream, even though this dream was killing me, literally sucking the life force out of me. And like so many now in these tough economic times, I've finally had to accept that I've done all I can, and I have to turn this dream over to my higher power. I can't control it any more. I know there's a hidden blessing in this situation. So many people are trying to struggle through this exact same thing in silence, behind hidden doors, struggling with misinformation and critical judgement from those around them who do not understand, and worse yet, the critical judgement against themselves by their own mind. Its exhausting and painful, and terribly frightening, but just like everything else in my life that's been a struggle, I can use this experience to help guide those around me through this painful process, because I myself have now been through it. I can use what I learned to help others avoid some of the pitfalls I've fallen victim to. There are so many lies out there by people preying on those in this situation, terrified about where to go next, and afraid to make the wrong decision, but making it anyway because they trusted someone who offered help, all the while not realizing they were the wolf in a sheep disguise. I have no idea what my next step will be. Just getting to this point has been a struggle, and I know its not over yet. I seek a higher perspective. I tell myself, fly like the hawk and look down at the bigger picture. The answer will come. It may be the opportunity to recreate my life that I've been yearning for. I don't know. So many ask me what will I do now? I really don't know. I'm not making any big changes or decisions. Business will go along as usual for now. Just being able to say I Don't Know is a huge step for me. One day at a time. One step at a time. One breath at a time. I don't know. But that's ok.

My New Life in the City

2009-11-05T09:01:00.000-08:00

I was eager to start my new life in San Francisco. It was all so exotic, so big and busy, with an incredible array of things to see and do. I started my new job in Berkeley at The Mint Platter, taking Bart under the bay, then walking from the Bart stationthe 10 blocks up to Telegraph Ave. Having never taken public transportation in my life, it was a bit scary learning a whole new way to travel, dependent on others to get you where you needed to go. I learned to allow 2 hours to get to work, because you never knew if the Muni streetcar or Bart would be on time. It was exciting though, and I took advantage of the time to read, write in my journal, and people watch. There were so many different people to look at, and I would watch, wondering what their lives were about. I also had never seen street people before, and didn't quite know how to deal with them. I felt guilty just walking by and ignoring them, but if you said hello and smiled, they would ask you for money. I didn't have any extra to share, so I just started taking the cue of the people around me and tried to ignore them as I walked by. Chris, my manager and Steve, his boss were very kind to me, and helped me adjust to life in the big city. My two coworkers, Ty and another girl, whose name i can't remember now because she quit shortly after I got hired were also kind and helpful. I was learning how to grade records, price them for sale, and how to buy them when people came in to sell. At that time, CDs were pretty rare still, expensive and not much available yet. We had two small glass cases where we kept the CDs, but people were still mainly buying and selling vinyl. Since the Mint Platter was strictly a used store, I got to learn about a huge variety of music that came in. It was a music-lover's paradise. I could listen to anything I wanted as I worked, and we took turns at the record player. Ty used to be a street person, who managed to get himself cleaned up and off the streets. He had so many stories to tell me, and really helped me understand the homeless situation. He was incredibly smart and funny and sarcastic, but kind and gentle and really looked out for me. One day, I was behind the counter cleaning bin cards (you know, those plastic dividers you see separating the various records in record stores) and a homeless man came in with some really trashed records to sell. They were beyond trashed actually, so it was easy for me to look at them quickly and know we wouldn't be interested. Ty had gone out to get some food, so I was in the store by myself, with no one else around. He was a huge black man, wearing sunglasses. When I said thanks, but no thanks, he got angry at me and started screaming at me. I was so shocked, I just stood there, not sure what to do except try to calm the guy down. He was getting angrier and angrier, and started threatening me, and just as he was leaping over the counter to grab me by the throat, Ty walked in. He dropped his food and grabbed the baseball bat we had hidden behind the counter, and threatened to beat the man over the head if he didn't leave me alone and go away. Thank God for Ty! I will never forget that moment. I was shaking, and started crying, not sure quite what had happened, but aware I was in some serious danger. Ty calmed me down, and reassured me I was safe. Boy, what an introduction to the big city! I was more cautious after that, and not quite as comfortable being alone. It was a good lesson for me though. I was working 5 days a week, traveling 2 hours each way to get to work in this record store. I was learning so much about life, music, people, but it was tough. My friends at the store all lived in Berkeley, so when I was there, I was happy, but when I went home by myself to San Francisco, I was pretty lonely. Every once in a while Chris would come over to the city to see music, but other than that, I didn't know a soul, and I had no way of getting to know anyone. I would smile at people and say hello to them on the street or at the bus stop, but I was quickly learning this was nothing like Oregon. You didn't talk to people on the streets in the city, and after my experience with the homeless guy, I was starting to understand why. While I was at the store, I was getting to know all sorts of interesting people, regulars who would come in for their music fix. There was a blind man who came in with his guide dog, Bob, who was a jazz fan, and Chris would go through and read off the records we had gotten in and would play stuff for him. Then there was the boy who worked upstairs, at Leopolds, the record store that only carried new records and cds. His name was Craig, and he was a buyer there, so he was always bringing in promos of new records that he didn't like and trading them in for used stuff that he wanted. He was cute, and funny and a little older than me, and we hit it off. And Barry, who now owns a record store in San Rafael, and one of Chris's good friends. But I was barely scraping by money wise, and was realizing I might not be able to make a living working at the record store. I had been there for several months when I made the hard decision I would have to look for another job, this time in the city so I wasn't spending so much time and money to get to work. I loved working at the store, and loved learning about all the different music out there, but after Christmas, I started looking for a new job. My brother in law had a buddy who worked at Pepsi HQ in the city, and put in a call for me. I got hired to work in the mail room, at the bottom of the rung, but I would be getting paid $8 an hour, which was more money than I had ever made in my life. So with tears in my eyes and a promise to come visit soon, I quite my job at The Mint Platter and went off to work in corporate America. I lasted 2 months. It was awful. I was supposed to be responsible for sorting all the mail coming into the building and delivering it to the right people, and then take all the mail they had going out and get it stamped and sorted into big gray sacks to go out to the various branches around the bay. Now, here I was with a college degree in the mail room, learning how to run the copy machine, the fax machine the stamping machine. Happy to be learning something new, but quickly learning that my co-workers didn't look at me as an educated capable person, but as the dirt under their feet. The snobbery, the rudeness, the blatant disregard for myself was unbelievable. Even the girl who answered the phones was rude and mean to me. Her name was Jessica, and she was an aspiring soul-pop singer, a beautiful black girl who was so glamorous I couldn't take my eyes off her. I was supposed to cover the phones for her while she took her half hour lunch break, but sometimes it would turn into 2 hours, and I was stuck at the phones waiting for her to come back, all the while having my work pile up in the mail room. I mentioned it to her, but she just fixed me with steely black eyes and said if I said anything to our boss, she would make my life a living hell. It already was, how much worse could it get? I had hoped to find some new friends here, but I realized these people were stuck in this bizarre fake drama of how they thought corporate life should be. They thought they were better than me because they had a desk to work at, or something. I have never been treated so badly in my life before or after working at Pepsi. I was even more miserable than I had been commuting to work at the record store. At least there, people were nice, and I had a alot of fun at work, listening to music and talking to people. No one treated me like garbage. I finally realized no amount of money was worth putting up with bad behavior, and to the chagrin of my Dad (my mom understood) I quit that job and went back to The Mint Platter. I would just have to find a different way to get to know people in the city and to make friends there.

San Francisco 1988

2009-10-31T09:03:00.001-07:00

So here it was, Sept 1988, I don't remember the exact date. I woke up in the morning in my new home, filled with other people's furniture. My wrecked truck Amarillo was sitting out in the drive way. There was no food, no coffee, no comfort there for me, so I got dressed and went in search of something to help me start the day right. There was a coffee shop down the hill just a few blocks, so I sat and drank my coffee and tried to figure out what the next step was. I had called my parents and was just waiting to hear back from them after they talked to the State Farm guy, Dave. There was an auto body shop right near the coffee shop, and after breakfast, I must have called them to come get my car because somehow that's where it was now. I remember that place, it was a dark 2 story cement building. There was nothing else to do for now except wait, so I set out to explore the neighborhood and figure out where I was. The Golden Gate Park was right across the street from where I was, so I walked over there to look around, and it was breathtaking, but huge. Full exploration would have to wait. I headed back to the neighborhood. There were a bunch of cute little boutiques, coffee shops, chinese and other ethnic restaurants around that little Inner Sunset neighborhood. The day was bright and sunny, as only San Francisco can be in the early fall. I got some groceries and walked back home, and got my stereo set up so I had some music. I had never been in a city before, and had no idea how to get around without a car. I watched people waiting for the bus, and the street car, and asked someone where I could get a map and how to use the bus. Its an odd place to be, alone in a city, unsure even how to get around or where you are. I didn't know a soul, so I was gonna have to get brave and ask for help if I was gonna make it there. Luckily, the upstairs neighbor was a kind older lady who was a wealth of information about the city, transportation and other vital survival skills. I needed to find a job in a hurry. I had only brought $100 with me, which was plenty to live off of in a small town in Oregon, but here in the big city, it was almost gone! So that was my next task. Someone came to visit me that first week I was there, I don't remember who, but for some reason, we ended up in Berkeley after taking Bart across the bay. We were exploring Telegraph street and there was a small used record store, The Mint Platter, down a flight of cement stairs, tucked secretively into the corner. I went in and asked for a job, telling them about my years of experience in radio and writing. The manager wasn't there, but the fellow working at the counter, Ty, told me to write it all down (since I didn't have a resume) and leave a phone number I could be contacted at, and he'd have his boss call me. Amazingly enough, the next day, I got a call from Chris Detzer, the manager, asking me to come in an meet him. So I took Bart back over to Berkeley again (which I was panicked about because I think it cost me $2.00 each direction and I was running out of cash!), but we met, and he asked me questions about music. I had never worked in a record store, but I had worked retail and customer service and new enough about music that he was sure I would be able to learn, so he hired me on the spot, and I started the next day! Wow, things were looking up! I now had some new friends, a new job, and soon, money in my pocket. Later that week, I heard from the insurance company, and they told me they would pay to destroy my car because it was totalled, but they wouldn't pay to fix it. I didn't have a choice. I didn't have the money to fix her, and so with tears in my eyes, I pulled out the CB radio, and gathered up the tools and stuff that was left in my truck, and kissed her goodbye. I was now alone in a city I didn't know, with no one to help me, and no car. It was gonna be a crash course in adjusting to the unknown.

Courage and Faith

2009-10-29T09:03:00.001-07:00

I have reached a cross roads in my life, much like the ones I've been writing about that have occurred in my past. I'll get back to that story soon, because its been good for me to look at where I've come from and how I got to where I am, and I'm not done yet. But today, I need to write about my current cross roads, and the courage and faith it is taking to look honestly at that place. We all get there, yet many times, we ignore that moment, thinking, hoping, praying it will go away and everything will go back to normal, so we can just get on with the lives we've become so familiar, so comfortable with. Yet, when you ignore that moment hoping it will just go away, we do a disservice to ourselves, and the potential wonderful things that accepting change can produce in our lives. I'm standing at that point, one path going off into the jungle, filled with tangles and hills, and one path cleared, open, safe, flat but holding no more mystery. I am being pulled towards the jungle, but fear keeps me still for the moment. I have run Gearhead for the last 10 years. I started this company from love and passion, never imagining it would lead me to the places I've gone. It was one of those wild roads I chose, and I don't ever regret taking that path. It changed my life in ways I could never imagine, and brought incredible gifts, people and challenges to me. But I'm at that cross roads again, where it would be safe to keep going, yet no longer holds the mystery and the challenge that it once did. I've been struggling though, stilled by fear, by the unknown. What am I going to do if I no longer have my company to frame my day around? Who would I be then? But that's the lie-- I am not my company. Its something I do, something I love, something I'm good at, but its not ME, its just who I've defined myself by. I started on this path 25 years ago, following the bends, the twists, the turns, the highs and lows, never in a million years seeing myself getting to where I am today. But I'm here, now, and looking out over the vista. Just a brief glimpse of something new, something different out there, and I want to see what's there. Do I have the courage to dive into the underbrush again? I know I do, deep in my soul, that longing for something new and something different is pulsing, pulling at me. I created something incredible out of thin air, and I can do that again, if I give myself the blessings to jump off the cliff again into the unknown. I don't have the proverbial parachute on my back, but then again, I've never had it. I've always just jumped, holding courage and faith in my heart that something miraculous would appear for me to land on, and it always has, each and every time I've come to this point. I am just working up the courage to do it again. Who knows where I'll land this time? But that's always been the point–giving myself permission to just go for it, without worry or fear stopping me.

San Francisco Here I Come

2009-10-13T08:23:00.000-07:00

It was September 1988. I had loaded up my truck and said goodbye to everyone, and gotten on the road. I-5 heading south to San Francisco, 550 miles. The drive was beautiful, through the Siskiyou Mountains, past Lake Shasta, then down the long stretch of foothills, dropping into the Bay Area. I hadn't really driven much in heavy traffic. In Oregon, there aren't that many people to make the roads feel crowded, but boy, once, you get onto I-80 near Vacaville, the amount of cars on the road exponentially increases. I wasn't worried through, I knew where I was going, and I had a place to stay. I was heading for the city that has been sung about in so many songs, and I was thrilled. It was getting darker by the time I found myself on the Bay Bridge, heading into San Francisco. I was so excited: the view was spectacular. I had directions to where I was supposed to be going, so I wasn't too concerned. I didn't anticipate the amount of cars on the road, and I certainly hadn't anticipated how fast people drive. I was coming down off the bridge, looking for my exit, which was Fell Street, that would take me to my new home. The other thing I hadn't anticipated was that traffic would come to a dead stop on a freeway. But that's exactly what happened. I was driving along at about 50 miles an hour, not fast, but not slow, looking for my exit, which was supposed to be posted on one of many signs all around me. I looked back at the road just in time to see all the cars in front of me at a dead stop. I slammed on my breaks, sure I could stop in time, but the entire bed of my pickup truck was filled with boxes of records, which are VERY heavy. They all slid forward, and the extra weight and momentum carried me forward right into the rear end of the car in front of me. There was a sickening crashing sound, metal, breaks squealing, then silence. I was stunned. I hadn't even made it into the city limits yet, and here I was, smoke pouring out the front of my poor little truck. I got out of the truck, mind you, this is on a FREEWAY bridge, so there was alot of traffic, and sort of stumbled towards where the people I had hit were also getting out of their car. No one was hurt thankfully. It was 3 nice guys in a small hatchback, and they were all fine. The car was ok too, except for the bumper being smooshed in. But my poor little truck, Amarillo was not so lucky. The weight of the records had caused the whole front end to be squished like an accordian, with the radiator being pushed back into the engine. There was no way I could drive it. I was shaking so badly I could barely talk. Of course, this was a time where there were no such thing as cell phones, so I couldn't just call up Triple A to help me. I don't even think I had Triple A! I had no idea where I was, or what I was gonna do. I also hadn't realized how cold the Bay Area could get at night. The only time I had been in SF before, it was bright and sunny, and warm! So I'm shivering and freaked out and trying hard not to burst into tears, wondering what I was gonna do. So these nice boys offered to drive me into the city to a pay phone so I could call a tow truck. I left my poor little truck sitting on the side of the bridge with the flashers on, and got in the car with them. They dropped me off on Market Street, at the cross street of Van Ness, right in front of a Zimm's Restaruant. I opened a phone book, and called the first tow company I found and explained to them what had happened. They asked me where I was so they could come and get me, but I was shaking so bad, and so freaked out I couldnt' tell them. All I could do was describe where I was and they came and got me. Now, to get to my truck, which was yet another ordeal. If you've ever been on the Bay Bridge, you know that its two levels, the lower one leaving the city, and the upper deck going into the city, so getting back to my truck took a while. We finally got there, and got her all hooked up, and the drive wanted to know where to take me. I just gave him the address to the house I was supposed to be moving into on Ortega Street in the inner Sunset. At least I didn't have to worry about navigating my way around the city to find my new home! There was a bright side to this whole mess. It kept me amused in an otherwise horrible situation. He dropped me and my squished truck off in front of my new house, and I went in and just burst into tears. I was in a new city, with no money (I had given $ 80 of the $100 to the tow truck driver to rescue me), no friends, no one to call, and no idea what I was gonna do next. I unloaded all the records from my truck into the house, and went out to find a phone to call my parents to let them know I had arrived. I fell asleep exhausted, scared and feeling very alone. I'd figure out my next step in the morning. Welcome to my new life!

People's Weird Perceptions about Owning a Label

2009-10-10T12:16:00.000-07:00

Most of the time, I just roll with whatever people think and say about how cool it must be to own a record label. I honestly never thought of it that way, its just something I do because I am passionate about music. But there are days, like today, when I just want to throw my hands up and say "What the F**K?"? Are you really that lame? I write a newsletter every couple of weeks to let subscribers know about what's going on here at the label. Its fun for me, and it's a great sales tool. This is a business first and foremost. I'm trying to make a living doing something I like, and hopefully in the process, release something positive into the world. People seem to think that I control alot of what happens in the music industry, which is crazy. I put out a record, and do my best to promote the band and the music, and hopefully make my money back so I can work on the next project. Its all a leap of faith, all I can do is be honest with myself, my customers and my band, and the rest is really out of my control. One of the things that people really don't seem to get is that I do not have the resources to put out every band that contacts me. First off, I don't have the resources to put out every band that I LIKE, much less than those who send me a demo with hope in their hearts that I'll sign them. There's so much that goes into my decision to sign a band; I wrote about some of those things a few posts ago. But here's the deal: I listen to EVERY SINGLE DEMO that gets sent to me, honest to God! It may take me a few years to write that band and let them know I listened to it (if they had the sense to provide a current and correct email address). But I never ever tell that band they're bad, even if they are, and believe me, I get alot of demos that I could say that about. Music is SUBJECTIVE, and what may turn me on, or off is just my own personal taste. So if I'm rejecting a band, I may give them some pointers to help them pull things together, or I may just say, its not what I'm looking for, which is the truth! But it might be what someone else is looking for, who am I to say? I'm not God, I am not the arbiture of taste! But what really bums me out is emails like this, that I just got today sent from one Paul Hill :

You do not support my band and I do not suport yours.

So Get Screwed!

Thanks!

I have no idea who this is, or what his band is or what he thinks I did to deserve an email like this. I know I never ever decline to work with a band in a rude way. Anyone who knows me knows I'm very polite, and have a policy of not dissing a band. If I don't like it, I don't work with them, or write about them, or engage in any way. There's too much negativity out there already, what purpose would it serve to diss a band? Does this person think that because I didn't sign them that I'm not supportive of new bands and artists? I thought it was self evident that I can't work with every band I like, much less every band that contacts me. I get hundreds of emails and demo submissions, and I may sign one or two bands a year. It's attitudes like this that make me hate what I do. I try really hard to let people make the kind of music that makes them happy. It has nothing to do with me, yet people like our friend here seem to think my stamp of approval on their band or lack of it means I'm supporting or not supporting them. I don't get it, what kind of person thinks this? Who cares what I think? I'm just one girl, running one small company, working with one very small segment of the music out there that comes my way. There's nothing I can do about an attitude like that, except hope that whatever his band is, if he is having a good time playing, that he keeps on playing, no matter what people say. That's the beautiful thing about art, music, writing, poetry, or any other creative out put of self expression: you do it for YOU, and no one else. You can't control how people respond. All you can do is be honest, be kind and try not to hurt any one intentionally. After that, its all out of your hands.

New Adventures in Radio

2009-10-06T09:22:00.000-07:00

In the early spring of 1987, I moved into the most charming 1 bedroom apartment, paying the whopping sum of $175 in rent. It was right above the coffee shop that I worked at, The Beanery, on the edge of campus. I was starting my final year of University, DJing regularly, Music Director of KBVR, taking classes in Asian literature, Beat Poetry, and 20th Century Culture. I'd long ago finished my Anthropology classes, and was now just having fun taking classes in anything that caught my imagination. Most of my energy was going into the radio station though, spending hours there communicating with labels, bands, and booking agents, and listening to music. My living room was filled with records waiting to be listened to, added to the station library or rejected. I had started inviting bands to play live in the studio with me during my show, and interviewing them in between sets. The Square Roots, featuring Jerry and Tim from Berkeley CA became one of the first bands I had in. They were an intoxicating blend of harmony and melody, passionately painful, yet beautiful lyrics, Jerry on acoustic guitar and Tim on stand up base. Shortly after them, I had the Flaming Lips in the studio with me. Wayne was delightful, honest, funny and charming. They talked about drugs, Norman OK, writing music. I just went with it, and let them take the ball and run. They played the basement of Eugene's WOW Hall that night, and blew out the lights in the place with their smoke and light machines. After the show, we headed back to my cute little apartment above the coffee shop, and I made them spaghetti which they devoured as if starving. The next morning, I went downstairs and got us coffee and pastries for breakfast, and when they finally woke up around noon, they were groggy but grateful for the caffeine and sweets. They thanked me for letting them crash on my floor in their sleeping bags. Nothing fancy, but a place to sleep, food to eat, and if they wanted a shower to wash off the grime of weeks on the road. They gave me two t shirts to say thanks, hugged me, and headed to Portland, to play the Satyricon. That spring was a haze of music, alcohol, more music, meeting bands, and passionately writing about each and everyone I met or interviewed. I have no idea what happened to most of those tapes and articles. I still have some of them though, plus all the playlists I put together to report to Gavin , CMJ, and the other music magazines. KBVR and Corvallis, OR was rapidly gaining a reputation as a stop along the route between California and Washington, and countless bands came through. The rest of the year is pretty foggy for me. I wasn't spending alot of time studying. In fact, while I was indeed showing up for class, I was just coasting on the fact that I could pretty much pull and A or a B out of my behind without too much problem. The classes I loved, like 20th Century Culture with Dan Armstrong, American Film Studies with John Lewis and Beat Poetry and Literature with Linc Kesler, those were classes that I would just absorb the information. It was incredibly easy for me to write the essays necessary, because I just inhaled the information in class, no extra studying necessary. I was also teaching Botany classes, plant ID and cultural uses of plants for my Anthropology professor and independent study credits. The rest of 1987 passed quickly: DJing, going to shows, interviewing bands, hanging out with my friends after work at Squirrels drinking beer, talking music, and when I came up for air, school work. I was also still working full time as I had done all through University, first the library, then between the radio station, The Beanery, and the deli. Winter came and 1988 rolled around, and then the spring again. I graduated Cum Laude that March 1988 with a degree in Cultural Anthropology with an Emphasis in Ethonobotany, specifically medicinal uses of native plants. I loved my degree, but my passion was music and underground culture. I wasn't sure what I was going to do after graduating, thinking I'd probably go to graduate school, but then I got the opportunity to move to SF and I jumped at it. One of my customers had grown up in San Francisco's Sunset District, and his parents had both just died, leaving a fully furnished home with no one to take care of it. He offered me the chance to rent the whole place for $200 a month, provided I didn't get a room mate so he could come to the city to use the room whenever he wanted. I grabbed it, and in September of 1988, packed up my little yellow pickup truck Amarillo with all my worldly possessions which consisted of 10 crates of records, some magazines and some clothing. I sold off my few pieces of furniture, rented my cute little apartment out to my friend Terry who also worked at The Beanery, had one last drink with my friends to say goodbye, and with $100 in my pocket, no job lined up but faith that I wouldn't have any trouble finding one, and a head full of dreams and adventure I headed for San Francisco, and my new life. I totally got what the pilgrims felt about striking out for a new life. I was just 24 years old, I didn't know a soul where I was going, and my whole life lay ahead of me.

What I look for in bands

2009-09-26T08:25:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here listening to Buddy Miller's "Universal United House Prayer". Have you heard of him? He's an incredible artist, part americana, part country and folk, part blues. I'm drinking my morning coffee, and I just finished writing in my journal, something I do every single day. There's so much swirling around in my head, I gotta get it out somehow. When I'm at home, I listen to country, folk, americana, mostly anything that is passionate and melodic. When I'm cleaning house, I listen to The GoGos, The Runaways, Teenage Head, great melody and great energy in the rock n' roll. Bands are constantly asking me what I look for when I decide to sign a band, and how i find out about the bands I do sign. There are a number of things that go into making a band interesting enough for me to sign them and want to work with them, the first and most important being passion. You can see if a band really cares about the music they are creating. There's a difference between honestly delivering a song, and just going through the motions, playing what you think will get you noticed. Its not something I can describe, I can just see it, and hear it, in the way they are on stage, how they interact with their band mates, the audience. They can be singing the most raw dirty rock song, or the most touching ballad, but its immediately noticeable. I generally always see a band play and meet them in person before taking a chance on them. The few times I have signed bands and haven't done that, I have regretted it. I look for music that moves me emotionally somehow. The lilt of the melody, the joy of the chorus, the passion of the delivery. If it makes me feel somehow, whether getting my body moving with the rock n' roll rhythm, or the heartbreaking hurt in the voice, the music has to hit me emotionally somehow. Really being able to FEEL the music, that's what gets to me. When I first saw Nirvana play, I knew right away this band was gonna be huge. I had seen them play at The Satryicon in Portland OR, a tiny club where all the traveling and local rock bands played. The passion in Kurt's voice, the raw vibrating energy of the performance.... you could feel every single note that came off that stage. There were very few people there, and the band didnt' seem to make an impression on the few people that were paying attention, but they left a mark on my soul. In 1988 I saw them play again at a tiny club in San Francisco, The Covered Wagon, and again, only a handful of people were there to see them. They put on an incredible show. Afterwards, I went over to say hi to Kurt who was shyly standing in the middle of the club looking very uncomfortable, and I told him how much I liked the show. He thanked me and looked earnestly at my face and said "I hope the other people liked it too". He wasn't a rock star,he was just a guy who played music that he hoped people liked. That is another thing I look for, no pretense. I hate bands that think they are God's gift to the world. The arrogance, the attempt to create a atmosphere that they are "cool". There's a difference between personal arrogance and a stage persona however, and its also very noticeable. Take The Hives for example. On stage they come off as arrogant jerks, but anyone who is really paying attention can see they're playing a game, playing a part, that they don't really think they're better than everyone else, they're just having a laugh at themselves. Its a stage performance and they are actors. They're brilliant about maintaining that persona in interviews, but you can see the humor shining through their words. You can see the little twitching of the mouth as a smile forms beneath the character they're playing. There are many subtle unspoken things about bands that I look for. Are they real, are they honest in their performance? Are they having fun, loving every thing about that moment they're in? Is there a uniqueness about them, or are they obviously wearing their influences on their sleeves, and trying to be that band or person, or have they taken it and made it their own? Do they do this because they have to, like they can't keep the music inside of them, and must get it out, or are they doing it because they think they're gonna get rich? Being a great band is not something that can be forced, it just is. That's what I look for.

1987 continued

2009-09-23T09:28:00.000-07:00

Back to my adventure in the music business. When I was betrayed by my friend Kris, it made me look at my life in a very different way. I realized I had started to isolate myself in my little tower apartment, and I was feeling very lonely. I decided to move in with two girlfriends, Karena and Sally Anne who were both DJs at KBVR. It was really fun, and pretty crazy. We had a beautiful little house, and we each had our own bedroom. I decided I wasn't gonna be taken advantage again by letting my feelings get in the way, so one night, I picked up a guy at the local bar, Squirrels. I can't even remember his name, but he was cute and funny, and we had a good time chatting and flirting. He came home with me that night, and we started to have sex. A few weeks earlier, I had gotten really sick, and had broken several ribs by coughing (yes, you can really do that!). I was over the flu, but my ribs were still healing. And when we started messing around, it hurt so bad, I asked him to leave. I think his name was Jesse.... Anyway, later that night, he came pounding on my window, and tried to rip the screen off so he could get in. It scared the daylights out of me, and woke up Karena and Sally Anne. We all went to the front door, and Karena had a baseball bat with her. We threathened to call the cops if he didn't leave, and he finally went after saying I owed him! Yikes! I don't learn lessons easily, but this one definitely got through, I needed to be alot more careful. All three of us were working at The Beanery, a local coffee shop, and I met a really sweet guy, Dale, who would come in each day for his mocha. We started dating, and he was so gentle, so nice, and so respectful. No crazy drama with this guy. He rode a motorcycle, and we used to go out for long rides in the country, and occasionally, he would pop wheelies with me on the back. It was a blast. He would stay over with me, and both Karena and Sally Anne liked him alot. I did too, but I was also really getting wrapped up with the radio station. I became Music Director that year, and it was taking alot of my time, not to mention working full time, and also going to school full time. I remember the last time Dale and I were together. We were giggling and cuddling Saturday morning, watching Pee Wee's Play House..... and he said to me he wanted to spend more time with me. Silly me..... I felt like I was being pulled between the radio station and my passion for the music, and for him..... and I chose the music. Let me just say, he's a classy guy, and we're still really good friends.... But this was my life, and where I wanted to go, and I couldn't stop, not now. I was the one who got to review all the music that came into the station, and decide what would get played, and what didn't. It was a rush. I remember pushing bands like Green, and The Stems, and The Flaming Lips, and The Donner Party, Mr. T Experience, Died Pretty, Sound Garden, Green River and then Mudhoney... oh so many great bands. I had to walk through the doors that were opening, and I did just that. DJing was like a drug for me. Playing new music, writing about it, talking about it, turning people onto this incredible wealth of music coming out. I pursued it almost single mindedly. Its a miracle I graduated, but I did, Cum Laude, with a degree in Anthropology and a passion for contemporary pop culture....

Trust Your Gut

2009-09-18T14:01:00.001-07:00

What happens when everything you know and believe in is challenged or taken away from you? I’ve had this happen several times in my life and each time, it has led to a major turning point in my life. The first time I left home, when I was 18, I felt like my world was falling apart, but it led to an incredible new life for myself, despite the fact that my family was furious with me for going. You know what its like to be 18 and free of all parental oversight, I went crazy, but I had so much fun and tried so many new things, it felt like that old saying “The World is my Oyster”. Then 4 years later, breaking up with my boyfriend Matthew devastated me. I thought I would never stop crying. Deep painful wracking sobs filled my soul. I played Joan Armatrading records over and over and over. If you want a really good song to cry to, I recommend her music. I didn’t know exactly why I broke up with him, I just knew I wanted something more. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. I have never been one to settle just because I wasn’t sure what I was gonna do next. I always envied those people who would just keep putting up with something even though they were miserable, just because it was safe and they at least knew what to expect. I will never be one of those people. I can’t help it, its like some deep need to change things when it gets too stale. After walking away from Matthew, my world opened up again into a miraculous new direction. I found music and the radio station and changed the direction of my life forever. I was swept away by the joy, the excitement, the challenge, and the passion and started to follow that path, discovering new things about myself, and about the world around me. Love, sex, passion, deceit, honesty, fear, anger, lies, jealously, more deep hurt, panic and sense of self. When I graduated from Oregon State, I was faced with yet another life choice, another fork in the road. That poem about taking the path less worn always appealed to me. I can’t remember who wrote it, but that poem was written for me. If I were alive in the old days when the world was first being discovered, I would have been one of those explorers. Fear grips the pit of your stomach, but the possibilities of discovering a new world always outweigh the fear. And so I moved to San Francisco, not knowing a soul in the world, and my life shifted radically again, leading me to new knowledge, new people, new ideas, new passions, and ultimately my then husband. Radical shift again six and a half years later, deciding to leave him, absolutely certain that the misery and hurt I was feeling was not what my life was supposed to be. When I left Dan, I needed a team of people around me to help me move. I knew I had to go, but I was a puddle of hurt, disappointment, fear and emotional turmoil. I knew in my heart I had to go, and thank God for my parents and my friends. They helped carry me when the fear wanted to keep me stuck. It was the best decision I had ever made, but also one of the most difficult to carry out. But it led to yet another brilliant new fork in the road, and me starting my record label. Again, more excitement, joy, learning new things, meeting new people, new romances and passions, new betrayals and heartaches, new disappointments and new victories…. and then again, another radical shift, a lurch, like when the earth moves under you during an earthquake, and you loose your balance for a time. Leaving Mike and splitting up the company created a tidal wave of emotion, hurt, anger, fear, and ultimately self-confidence. I had a vision and I was finally free to pursue that vision, which I’ve done for 3 and a half years now. But another lurch, another shift, another fork is coming. Do I have the courage and the confidence to follow it? I don’t know if I can face the pain of another transition, the fear of the unknown, the thought of being anchorless again in uncharted waters. I like knowing what each workday will bring, even if its struggle. At least it was my design, my choosing. I like knowing that I have complete command of how I want my day to go. And yet…. The niggling little feeling that always precedes change for me, that feeling of life being routine, and that deeper feeling of, “There must be something more”. They say the explorers had faith that God was on their side, bringing them new vibrant worlds and adventures. I am struggling to have that faith that something better is around the corner. I am struggling to believe in the very bottom of my soul and heart that I will be safe, I will be ok. I can see, looking back at the many drastic shifts my life has taken that I’m always ok and usually better off than I was before. If you trust your gut, trust yourself that you really do know what’s best; things will always turn out ok. But that’s where faith comes in, and I don’t know if I have it in me anymore. I’m facing possibly the biggest shift in my life, and I know there’s something better out there, I know it beyond a shadow of a doubt. And yet, letting go and just letting it happen takes the strength of blind faith in the unknown that it will in fact be ok…. The inevitable waves of grieving have started, and anger, and yes, deep fear…. What if this time it doesn’t work out? What then? I have to turn to faith, because I have nothing else. I have stepped off this ledge numerous times, and it has always been ok, once I let go and just went with it. And I know I have always felt this deep fear right before I let go, but I did it anyway. I know this time won’t be any different. I am now walking to the ledge, and getting ready to jump, free fall without a net, and have faith I will be safe, even if I can’t see the bottom.

My own personal 9/11

2009-09-11T16:52:00.000-07:00

Every year since 2001, the anniversary of 9/11 has been celebrated, commemorating the tragedy of the World Trade Center. Well, I have always had my own silent commemoration, my own personal anniversary. You see, this was the day in 1993 that I was married. When you get married, the whole world of romance novels fills your head, and you think that marriage is forever, and wonderful and if you're in love, then nothing can go wrong. But I was wrong. And I found out the hard way. I never should have gotten married, and so I commemorate that anniversary as a reminder to always pay attention to the small voice inside. I should have paid attention to the signs, but I was never one to pay heed to the big red flags that were flapping about, so why should this be any different? I'm one who learns by experiences, for better or for worse. This one was for worse, but in the end, it was for the better. We had met at the local record store, Reckless Records in San Francisco. I was dating a musician, Harry, and Dan was dating an artist, but that relationship was just coming to an end. I hated him at first, he bugged me, but as we got to know each other working together day after day, I realized he was incredibly smart, and really pretty interesting. So I tried to match him up with my best friend. They dated for a few months, but it ended in drama. Meanwhile, Harry and I had split up and I needed a room mate, and Dan needed a place to live, so he moved in, and we started hanging around together after work, going for drinks, going to shows. We went to see The Ramones and Social Distortion play, and it was at that show that we realized we both had fallen in love with eachother. I called my friend who had dated him and told her, and despite the fact that they had been broken up for a month, she was furious with me, and accused me of stabbing her in the back. We were never friends again. Despite that, Dan and I moved forward with our romance. He drank, and he drank alot, but I rationalized that it wasn't affecting me, so it wasn't really my problem. This is the beginning stages of co-dependence, but I had never heard of codepence at that point. We'd make plans based around his drinking, and if he didn't feel like doing something, then the plans changed. It was my birthday and he had encouraged me to take the day off of work. I had told him I wanted to go out to dinner at one of my favorite restaraunts, and then go see a band afterwards. I don't even remember who the band was, but needless to say, he didn't bother to make reservations, and he never got tickets for the show. He was too busy drinking and watching daytime TV. I was furious, and hurt, and needless to say, my birthday was ruined. I should have seen the signs, but I didn't. When he asked me to marry him I was thrilled. The disappointments, the hurts, the slights kept coming for the next few months, but he was my fiance, and I made excuses. 9 months later, Sept 11 1993, we stood together under a beautiful canopy of oaks and Douglas Firs, surrounded by my family and friends, and his mom and dad, and their spouses, plus his grandma and sister. The night before, we had fought so badly that I was finally starting to realize that maybe this wasn't the best decision I had made, but I ignored that little voice. That morning, he was running around like a crazy person, trying to keep both sets of parents apart due to some perceived drama. After the cememony, it was party time, bbq'd hot dogs, salad, beer... I didn't spend any time with him, but mostly hung out with my friends. I should have noticed then but again, the little voice was ignored.... who doesn't hang out with their new husband on their wedding day? Fast foward 3 years..... he is just getting out of the hospital and detox, after having almost died of internal bleeding brought on by alcohol. I was miserable, and i was getting ready to leave him, but he begged me not to go, and promised things would change. He had gotten abusive, both verbally and occasionally physically. But I kept ignoring that little voice inside, saying I didn't deserve this, that this is not how people in love lived. He had hit me infront of my sister, while he was drunk, and that really caused me to stop. But I didn't leave and I tuned the voice out.... I had some weird false idea that when you made a commitment like marriage, you followed through with it for better or worse. Maybe its because that's what I grew up with. My parents relationship was not a happy one, but here they are 50 years later, still married. Fast forward 3 more years, and he had started drinking again, and was more and more abusive, calling me names, threatening me, intimidation. I was a shell of myself, without even the energy to be angry any more. One day, it hit me, and I finally realized I was done. I told him I was leaving, and he pulled a knife on me and threatened to slit me "from navel to nose". I thank God that I had to courage to leave. It took me 3 months to find a place to live, and all that time, I pretended I had changed my mind and I would stay, but I was making plans to escape. In March 1999, I finally left. 6 years after that fateful day. I lived through hell for 6 years, my own personal World Trade Center melt-down, but I survived. I bless and commemorate every year my own 9/11 comes around that I had the courage to save my own life.

Clearing the Brambles and the Weeds

2009-09-01T10:14:00.000-07:00

I'm a gardener. I have been drawn to plants and gardens since I was a very small child. I used to follow my father around in the garden, pulling carrots out of the ground and eating them, sharing the cucumbers and tomatoes with my siblings. As I got older, I used to help my dad in the fields, taking the measurements and data he needed to move forward with his hop research. I was always attracted to flowers, fountains and nature, anything that resonated with the pulse and beauty of the earth. When I first moved out of my parents house, a week before I graduated from high school, the first thing I did at my new house was plant a garden. I planted corn, tomatoes, herbs and lemon cucumbers. I had so much produce, I went to the local co-op to see if they'd buy some off of me, as I considered myself a local farmer. When I entered the University, I became entranced with Native American culture, specifically how they used native plants for healing and medicine. I was studying Cultural Anthropology and also taking botany classes. I loved being outdoors, hunting for plants to either identify or to work with to make medicines and tonics, dyes and foods. I ended up with a degree in Anthropology with an emphasis on Ethnobotany, specifically medicinal uses of plants. This fascination with gardening, growing things, and creating beautiful spaces has never left me. I had started to study to be a landscape architect when I was living in San Francisco, but after I moved to Davis, there was no program here to further my career, and so I continued studying on my own, creating my own beautiful gardens filled with flowers and herbs and vegetables, and advising my friends and fellow homeowners on plants that would work for their landscapes. As I move forward now with this transition in my life, I find myself drawn more and more to my garden each day. I feel I can't breathe deeply enough until I've spent at least an hour talking to my plants, feeling the soil on my feet and hands and pulling the weeds that threaten to choke them out and take over the garden. Its my meditation, my church, my connection to Spirit, and it revives me every time. It has helped me to look at my life in a similar way. Things have gotten so out of balance that the weeds of my career have threatened to choke out the fragile beauty of the flowers of my soul. I have spent so much time worrying about what will help others, I forgot to fertilize my own creative garden. The neglect is evident with the amount of brambles that have covered my own internal sacred space. I am taking the lessons of my real life garden and applying it to my soul. Little by little, gently, and patiently, I am able to find the weeds, and pull them out by the roots so they can no longer threaten me. Its an arduous task, one that causes many who start their own garden to throw up their hands in exasperation, back pain and impatience and just walk away, preferring instead to go to the store to buy vegetables flowers and herbs from someone else who spent the time and the energy working the soil to bring forth abundance and beauty. I have found though, despite the hours of labor, that the rewards of weeding your own garden, nourishing the soil, tilling, and planting yields rewards so immense, so deep, that the pride and the pleasure one feels is impossible to compare to any other experience. It never stops though, once you clear the soil of visible weeds, the seeds of more weeds always sprout, so dilligensce is vital. I bless the process for the bounty it brings in the end. I will not be able to make it through this growing season without keeping in mind the harvest and abundance at the end of this season and cycle of life.

The Artist Within

2009-08-31T09:52:00.000-07:00

I've been writing about my journey into the world of independent music all those years ago. But there's another parelell story here as well. I have spent the majority of my life now helping musicians find a place for their music, their self expression. But when I started this whole path 25 years ago, I too was an artist, and a writer, and I've never honored that. I was always very creative as a child, doing everything from writing stories and poems to drawing and painting. As I got older, I learned the art of metal and wood working, pottery and stained glass. I also was a cook, creating wonderful new dishes out of thin air. Not to mention playing piano, singing, and writing songs. And yet, somehow, as I got further into the world of independent and punk music, those talents were looked down on as "too hippy". I'd already started amending what I was wearing and how I wore my hair. I was super crafty, and creative, but that didn't fit into the mold that most punk and alternative musicians and fans lived in either. I was ridiculed, and teased, and slowly, I stopped doing the creative things I loved, that allowed me to express my own uniqueness. I had adopted the outward physical trappings of punk rock, and now I was editing my own internal world, and my own self expression, allowing myself to be colored and altered by others opinions. The more I helped others embrace their creativity, the less I expressed mine. Its amazing how much an impact subtle glances can make. You know when someone is looking down their nose at you, judging you. Maybe I'm more sensitive than others, but I could feel the disapproval wafting off of the people I was choosing to hang around with. I still remember one Gavin convention (a huge convention for radio professionals), my first time in San Francisco. It was 1987, and I was music director of KBVR by this time. I decided to wear a long flowey skirt and some homemade dangly earrings to a "meet and greet" It was comfortable, and pretty, but certainly not punk. Wow, the looks I got, it was humiliating. People just stared, with undisguised disdane on their faces. We were there to meet some jerk-off band called Cock Pit that was being promoted by some major label. It was right when Guns and Roses were breaking , and this band aspired to the same acclaim. The sneers on those boys faces will always stay with me. I didn't look like someone they wanted to impress, and I knew it. That was the last time I allowed my crafty hippie side to show. I slowly stopped making jewelry, and doing stained glass, and I put my painting supplies into storage. Years later, when I got married, my husband was openly critical of my attempts to paint and write songs. And after we split up, and I started the label, my business parter too was aggressively critical of my views and opinions on artwork. I still remember him saying to me "you're no artist, leave the art to me". And now, all these years later as I dig through boxes, trying to find myself, my passion, my inspiration, I'm finding old drawings I did, painting supplies, boxes of art supplies.... and I've started allowing myself to play again. I have the most amazing supportive boyfriend now, and for the first time in my life, I have someone encouraging my childish attempts to create something for myself. He's so supportive and encouraging of my results, that i've gotten braver and have started to explore more. It feels awkward but so familiar somehow. Like my hands have always known how to do these things, but as I watch myself, its hard for me to believe that I've just painted what I painted. I sit back and marvel, "I did that!" and for the first time in my life, I am allowing myself to be proud. I haven't had the courage yet to start writing songs again. I've spent so much time supporting others' musical endeavors, I haven't got the courage yet to try for myself. But its coming. My piano looks at me every day, as if to say "I'm here when you're ready". This journey of trying to find myself again is revealing unexpected gifts and I feel grateful and blessed that it wasn't too late for me.

the lessons of life and love

2009-08-29T08:35:00.000-07:00

I was DJing every week by now, a 3 hour show from 8 to 11 pm each night. It was great. I pretty much had put all my attention and energy on djing, writing, going to shows and promoting the bands I loved. I became PSA director for the station, and was responsible for putting together the public service announcements for the DJs to read or play during their show. I was living in a tower apartment, one of the highest buildings in Corvallis. I had just come back from working for 6 months in the Malheur desert as a cook on a remote science field station. I had met a sexy handsome fellow named Ken who looked like a model. He was 6' 4" to my 5' 2", muscled, gorgeous, and smart. We would talk on the phone almost every night. He lived in Sacramento, CA, so we were trying to keep the relationship alive. I had become really good friends with a number of the DJs at the station, including Kris and Chris, female and male, respectively, as well as Steve, who I had a huge crush on, and Karena and Sally Anne. Ken came to visit me and I took him out to have lunch with my friends so they could meet my handsome fellow. Boy, what a blow that was. He was arrogant, rude and so full of himself, talking down to the waitress. It was awful. My friends couldnt' believe I was dating such a jerk, and frankly, I couldn't either. Beauty and sex blinded me to his real personality, and that night, I made him sleep on the floor and I broke up with him the next day. He headed back to Sacramento, and I've never heard from him again. I don't even remember his last name. I'd like to get in touch with him again to apologize for how harshly I ended that relationship. Shortly after that ended, Steve and I got physically involved. I was crazy about him. He and his girlfriend had just broken up, and I think he was feeling the need for some ego stroking and I was just the person to do it. I had stars in my eyes. He was tall, blonde, handsome and smart. And he knew everything about music. He was one of the best DJs at KBVR, and I couldn't believe he would notice me. We were working together at The Beanery, and I was always so tongue-tied around him. I don't really remember the sequence of events, but I know he knew I was crazy about him. I was getting ready to head back to the desert to go work again as a cook, and he made me a tape of music to take with me, as well as a tape of one of his shows where he dedicated a song to me. We hadn't done anything yet, and when I got back into town, the first thing I did was go to a party to find him. We were all drinking, listening to music, and flirting, and finally, he made his move. I was crazy about him, and of course went back to his house to spend the night. My sister was getting married the next day, and I was groggy and hung over, but so happy. The world could do no wrong. The boy of my dreams noticed me! And wanted me! I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. This went on like this for several weeks, us sleeping together, but there was never talk of me becoming his girlfriend. I was pouring my heart out to my friend Kris, telling her how much I liked him, how crazy I was about him, on and on and on. I trusted her completely. After all, she had a boyfriend, my friend Chris. One night, Chris came over to my little tower apartment in tears. He told me that she and Steve were seeing eachother. I couldn't believe it though, she was my friend, and she knew how I felt about him. I confronted her, and she told me it was true. I was furious, and hurt beyond belief. How could someone do something like that? I hated her, and I was never again to be friends with her. I was also angry at Steve, and I told him how I felt. I dont' really know why, but I was able to forgive him, and we stayed friends. But the betrayal I felt from her never left my heart.

Being a Woman in "The Scene"

2009-08-27T08:35:00.000-07:00

When I really started to pursue this whole stream of independent music, I wasn't aware that there was a difference between how men and women approached it. I was going to hardcore shows, and jumping into the pit just like the boys. It was fun, exciting, and it felt great to get that rush of adrenaline that came with the experience. I wasn't aware of the subtle snobbery that existed just under the surface though. I was DJing on a regular basis by this time, it was 1986, and I was going out to see all sorts of bands, almost every night if there was a show. Corvallis is a little college town, an hour and a half from Portland, OR, and 45 minutes from Eugene, OR. I had my little yellow pickup truck, Amarillo, and I would either drive by myself, or bring some of my friends along, and we would head to PDX or Eugene to go to shows: The Neats, Flaming Lips, Killdozer, Jesus Lizard, Sound Garden, R.E.M., The Replacements, Nirvana, Green River, The Wipers.... on and on and on. The list is endless. I have boxes of flyers from all of these shows. It was so much fun, exhilarating. If the show was at The Satryricon, we would get gyros afterwards at Taki's Gyros Stand right outside the door. I was never really concerned that I didn't look the part. I believed that everyone who loved the music would be accepted. We were all a part of something special, and it didn't matter if you had long hair, spiked hair, wore a short mini skirt, long hippy skirt or whatever. You were there to support and love the music, and that's all that mattered. That was the common thread, and we were all there sharing this secret passion. How wrong I was..... I've been struggling to figure out where it all changed for me. What happened along the way, and this is where I constantly come back to. I remember how free and passionate I felt, and I also remember all the subtle looks, the sidelong glances of the guys as well as the girls. I didn't look "the part". I have long blonde hair, I never wore alot of makeup and I wore whatever I was comfortable in. I was never one to try to fit in, even when I was very small. I was always one to march to my own drum. But I started to realize this was not acceptable in the world of underground punk and rock n roll. If you were gonna be part of this thing, it wasn't enough to love and appreciate the music. No, you had to done the uniform. You couldn't just dance the way you wanted to, you had to dance they way everyone else did. You had to wear the right clothes, cut your hair just right, and boy, there better be some hair dye in there somewhere, or you were really uncool. Here I was, playing most of these bands on the radio, writing about them, helping promote them, giving some of them their very first exposure, but it didn't matter. As a female, I was not accepted because I didn't play the game and look the part. Of course I wanted to be like, and I wanted to fit in. Who doesn't? I had a crush on the singer from one band, and after the show, I went over to talk to him and introduce myself. I was the geek girl- I see that now, but then, it just never occurred to me. He tolerated my friendly words, but then a beautiful sexy girl walked up, short mini skirt, black spiked hair, lots of makeup, and that was it, tolerance withdrawn, and I was just left in the dust, feeling foolish and embarrassed. After this same scenario being repeated on numerous occassions, I finally started to wise up. It was 1987 by now. I had been living alone in my own little apartment, moving around each year to some place new, each place more charming than the last. By this time, I had all my own furniture, so finding an unfurnished apartment was easy. Rent was never more than $175 a month, and as a student who was also working full time, this fit right into my budget. One day I was hanging out with my girlfriends, and I asked Karena to cut my hair. We were drinking beer, listening to The Cramps "Songs the Lord Taught Us" and she started cutting. Now, I should say its never a good idea to cut your hair when you're drunk, or to do anything drastic, like get a tattoo when you've been drinking. And its also never a good idea to have the person cutting your hair be drunk as well, but that' s a lesson I know now. It ended up really really short, almost shaved in the back, with longer bangs in the front. I had started dying my hair deep magenta red by then, and truth be told, it wasn't the most attractive look I've ever had. The red hair was fun, but that short, it wasn't so great. But at least now I fit in. I looked the part. And for the first time since getting involved with the whole "scene" I was taken seriously. Karena gave me some make up tips. She was beautiful, and always looked glamourous. Boys started to talk to me, and when I approached bands, they didn't just walk away looking for the first pretty girl who would satisfy their feeling of being a rock star. They stayed and listened, they talked to me, and they were flattered that I wanted to write about them, play them on the radio, help promote them. It was my first glimpse into how false this whole world was, but I was filled with pride that I had finally cracked the code, I was finally part of the "in crowd".

Finding your passion

2009-08-09T09:29:00.000-07:00

For many years, music has been my passion, completely and wholly occupying my life in all ways. I have been trying to trace where it all started to shift and it always comes back to a place where I started to listen to other people instead of myself. Years ago, when I was loving and living freely, and was not concerned about what other people thought, I was able to access and enjoy that passion completely. When I was with Henry all those years ago, we laughed, we loved, we listened to music that spoke to our hearts. The same thing is true when I was with Ray. I remember dancing to the Mamas and Papas "California Dreaming" in the middle of the street at midnight, laughing, and singing at the top of our lungs. I pursued that passion so completely that I started to loose connection to those friends who inspired it in the first place. After Matthew and I split up, I found a little apartment by myself in a beautiful old house surrounded by towering graceful oak trees. It was a quaint railroad flat, partially furnished with an old fashioned steel framed bed, a couch and a kitchen table. I loved this place. It felt liberating to be all by myself, with no one else around. That's when I really started to build my record collection. I found an Alarm record at Happy Trails, the little used record store that is still standing today. And then fell in love with Modern English "I'll Melt With You" I was listening to KBVR, and learning about all sorts of new bands: The Cure, R.E.M, U2.... I don't remember what led me to go to the radio station to learn how to become a DJ. I know I was working with several people at the time who were DJs. The excitement and joy of getting to play music for people as I was learning about it and discovering it and talk about it overwhelmed me. I was totally hooked. I was scared to death too, but I pursued it. Thinking about how exciting all that was, and comparing it to my life now, things are so different. I'm burned out, overwhelmed by the selfish, destructive nature of egos. All grasping for their piece of the spotlight. Nothing resonates from the heart with most bands these days, its all about eg, fashion and attitude, and it makes me sick. All except Hellbound Glory. When I see them play, its pure, honest, passionate and filled with joy, just for the sake of making music. People have fun when that band plays, and they have no attitude about what they do. I went to see the Pine Box Boys last night and its the same thing for them. Just honest open music, with people dancing and having fun and just enjoying themselves. None of that garbage about being worried what people will think if "they're not cool". I want to scream when I see bands with that attitude! Give it up boys, get over it!! No one cares if your hair isn't perfect, just play the music and have some fun! Seeing Hellbound Glory and The Pine Box Boys gives me hope. It connects me to that passion I originally felt. And it makes me more determined than ever to excavate where it all changed, and to find that point and bless it and heal it and try to reclaim the joy and passion that drove my life all those years ago.

Heading True North

2009-07-23T08:57:00.000-07:00

I am driving up I-5 North, back to my childhood home to attend my youngest brother's wedding. Its been a very good journey so far, for a number of reasons. My true love Bill is driving behind me. He can't come to the wedding, so we decided to drive halfway, and spend the night so we could have some time together. We're in Ashland, OR, a quaint college town known for its world-famous Shakespearean Festival. Today, I continue north, and he'll turn around and head back to Sacramento. This is a drive I've done hundreds of times over the years, always feeling urgent and rushed to get "home" to expectant parents, who love me and are happy to see me, but can never see the woman I am, instead always seeing the wild unpredictable girl I was so many years ago. This time is different though. I feel like I am reclaiming myself, my essence, and am going at MY pace. Once during this drive many years ago, as I was in the high desert section of I-5 in the Siskiyou Mountains, I had a vision of a truck cab on fire, hurling towards me. Moments later, it actually happened. I was so startled by the vision and thought it was real, so I moved over to the far right hand side of the freeway. Moments later when it actually happened, if I hadn't moved when I did, I would have been struck by the flaming cab of the truck. Needless to say I was very shaken, and have never forgotten that moment. It also was a moment where I knew I was touching into some ancient universal powers, and I was so frightened, I think this was the point that I closed myself off to inner wisdom and communication from my higher self. Several weeks prior to that, I had dreamed a friend of mine died, and again, I was terribly shaken. I woke up 2 days later to find out he actually did die in his sleep. He was my neighbor, and when he didn't show up for classes that day, I woke up to his girlfriend banging on his door. When the police arrived and broke into the house, he was lying in his bed, having died in his sleep from some unknown cause they termed Adult Death Syndrome. I thought I had caused his death somehow by dreaming it. That experience, coupled with my vision of the burning truck shut off any further access to that apparent ability that was starting to surface.

That memory kept flashing across my mind as I drove yesterday, with the music blasting, singing at the top of my lungs. Bill was in his truck behind me, so he had no idea what I was going through, although I had shared that vision with him the one other time we had driven to Oregon. Now though, I felt like I was reclaiming some part of myself. I know I didn't cause those things to happen, I just got a glimpse into the future. There are many parts of myself that I've left behind in Corvallis, traces of the girl I once was, and whom I don't even know anymore. Today, we're supposed to meet up with two old friends from my days living in Corvallis. its funny it should happen just now. I met them shortly after I broke up with Matthew in 1985, when I had just got my first apartment living by myself. That was a magical time, full of music, laughter, dancing and singing, good food, and great companionship. I haven't seen Steve since that time, when we became lovers for 3 wonderful months. After we broke up, Ray and I became lovers until I ended it, feeling sure he was more a friend than a boyfriend. I saw Ray last year at the Billet Proof car show, where he unexpectedly came up and said hi. It was as if we had been in contact all these years. I'm finding these pieces of my past at just the right time, as I seek to get back on a track I left so long ago, that of being true to myself, my voice, my passions. One would think its weird introducing my current boyfriend to 2 lovers from so long ago, but its a chance to share a part of my past with Bill, as I seek myself to recover it.

Letting ourselves dream

2009-07-21T09:08:00.000-07:00

How often do you let yourself dream about a life you want, a life that is different from the life you currently have? We are so attached to the meaning of what we do, that we forget we are changing growing beings who can have something more, something different. I'm finally daring to let myself dream, let myself contemplate a life that is totally different from what I do now. But there is immense fear there. I am so identified in my mind with my company, that its paralyzing to think of doing something else. What will people think? Will I still have the same friends? How will I recognize myself if I change my life so drastically? For the first time in my life, I'm listening to an internal dialog that I tried to drown out many many years ago. In my quest to find myself again, I've had to look back to see where it all went wrong. Only by understanding that path am I going to be able to allow the future to unfold in new and unexpected delightful ways. I had to stop for a bit . I couldn't take the sadness that some of those memories evoked. That decision to end a true love and hold onto something safe and familiar instead was excruciating. I think that might have been a hint of things to come if I was able to see it at that time. But hindsight is 20-/20. I really really get that saying now. So when I opted to stay with Matthew, I changed the course of my life forever. It clearly wasn't working though. I was miserable, and Matthew was getting stoned all the time, becoming someone that I wasn't intrigued by anymore. We had moved to a small apartment by this time, and had another room mate, Rick, who was also a stoner. It wasn't my thing, I didn't like the lazy sleepy way it made me feel. So I stayed away much of the time, studying ,working, and in general staying very busy. I think we lived in that apartment for a few months, and then found a darling 1930s house with our friends Randy and Margaret, and we all moved there. This was 1985 and I was going t o be turning 21 on Feb 15. My friends and hosuemates were all excited about throwing me a party to celebrate my ability to legally drink alcohol, so a keg was ordered, food was being made, and a cake was in the works by Margaret who was an incredible pastry chef. Alot of the new friends I was making at the coffee shop I worked at, and from the radio station where I was starting to hang around a bit were invited, and I asked everyone to wait until I got home from work about 10 pm, before starting the party. Needless to say, no one listened, and when I got home to my own birthday party, the keg was empty, the food was gone, and most of the guests were either drunk, stoned, or had already left. Part of the birthday cake still remained though. Margaret had managed to save that for me. I was crushed. It was such a let down to what I had been expecting. And I felt betrayed. And my boyfriend Matthew just laughed and didn't think it was a big deal, but that was pretty much the end for me. Spring quarter ended a month later, and I ended my relationship with Matthew and moved out. I went back to my parents house and started looking for an apartment of my own. It was a gut-wrenching time for me. I felt so alone. I had discovered Joan Armatrading about that time, and played some of her most sad, broken heart songs over and over and just cried. I can't even begin to describe the pain. Matthew of course couldn't understand why I had broken up with him. He showed up at the Beanery, the coffee shop I worked at and begged for me to take him back. As I was leaving work that night on my bicycle, he ran after me, crying and begging for me to give him another chance, grasping at the rear fender of the bike, trying to detain me. I will never forget that feeling of riding off into the night, leaving him sobbing in the middle of the street. It was like a scene in a movie. I had chosen me, my life, my possibilities for the first time in many years. I knew I had made the right decision, that I needed to move on with my life to what new, exciting, scarey different things awaited me. I have repeated that moment, that fine line where everything is balanced, and things could tip either way many times in my life. Its funny to note the very first time I became aware of it. I'm there again.

Buddha Holy Relics

2009-07-13T08:39:00.000-07:00

I was lucky enough yesterday to be in the presence of the Holy Relics of Buddha. It is a traveling exhibit called Maitreya Heart Project, hosted by the Monks of Tibet. It is truly one of the most incredible things I have ever taken part in in my entire life. The relics are tiny crystals left over after the Buddhas are cremated. They believe that these tiny crystals are the very purest distilation of faith and an exemplary life that has attained enlightenment. The relics go back to the first Buddha, back to 500 BC. This rare gift of being in the presence of these relics is the most healing, uplifting experience I have ever experienced. It is undescribable what happened to me, how I felt when I walked in to that room, held at the Veteran's Memorial Center in Davis, CA. I thought it would be like a traveling museum, with the relics on display and placards explaining each item, but it was everything else but that. The relics were displayed in the center of the room, surrounded by golden-yellow and deep red roses, water blessed with saffron, tiny flickering candles, slightly musky incense, and small glass cases with the relics, many hundreds of tiny crystals each with a small picture of the Buddha who's relics they were and a date. The moment I walked in the door, after a brief description of the proper procedures, I was overcome with emotion. Grief, sadness, pain, loss, all rushed up to my throat, and I started to weep. I stood in line waiting to pay my respects by pouring a ladle-full of saffron water over the holy Baby Buddha, before entering the rest of the exhibit. I couldn't stop the tears flowing down my cheeks. As I approached the baby Buddha to pay my respects, I felt a glowing all-encompassing feeling of love and safety wash over me, and my tears flowed freely. I scooped up a small ladleful of water and as I poured it over the statue, I prayed for love and peace and forgiveness, for both myself, and for those who have hurt and betrayed me over the years. All that stored pain and hurt just poured out of me with my tears. I proceeded to the left of the exhibit to view the most ancient holy relics. I almost couldn't focus, I was shaking so badly. But not from fear. It was this indescribable feeling of peace and safety, comfort and joy, and deep love. The energy that radiated out of that beautiful exhibit was mystical and heavenly, and I will never be able to forget how blessed, how safe, how loved I felt just standing there. I proceeded to the line to receive a blessing with the holy relics by one of the Buddhist priests who were there. This was a lovely lady, not what I would have expected. She was older, with slightly curly brownish blonde hair with streaks of grey. She was seated, with a small red cushion infront of her. When it was my turn, I walked forward, not sure of the protocol, and afraid I would do it wrong, but I just naturally kneeled in front of her, grateful for the blessing and healing. She put some of the holy relics, encased in a golden pointed glass case, on my crown chakra, and prayed for me. I don't remember what she prayed, I was overcome with emotion again, with tears flowing freely down my face. The feeling of release, of letting go all the pent up hurt, anger, grief, fear and blame was so overwhelming, I was shaking again, and I couldn't and didn't want to stop it. The feeling of pure love just flowing around me, through me, and over me was so comforting, and at that moment, I felt my heart chakra pop, literally, it was like a small burst of energy right in the center of my chest, and I cried openly. I don't know what happened, I just know I felt clear for the first time in many many months, and very safe, very loved, like when you were little, and your mom would hold you close and hum to you, and you felt like the world was a wonderful safe and magical place. As she ended the blessing, I just looked at her beautiful clear blue eyes and said thank you. I got up and felt shaky still, uncertain what happened but grateful for the experience. I was met my another lovely man, with long straight gray hair collected back in a ponytail. He handed me a very thin string with a knot tied in the middle, and explained it was a blessing chord, meant to tie the blessing I had just received to me. I could tie it around my neck, or put it somewhere special that had meaning to me. I thanked him and with hands shaking so hard I could barely hold the string, I tied it around my neck. I stood infront of the relics for a while longer, with beautiful enchanting music flowing around me, and lines of people waiting to pay their respects. I just soaked up the energy, the blessings, the feeling of release and peace, and sent prayers of healing out to my family, my friends and my boyfriend, and most of all to those who had hurt me and to those I felt angry with. I just bathed in the feeling of peace and forgiveness and the mystery of the entire experience. And with one last look, and a grateful shaking breath, I left. I don't know what happened, and honestly, I don't really care to analyze it. I am so grateful for the feeling of peace and release I feel now, even the next day. I am grateful for the beauty and the mystery this experience brought to my life, and I feel I have been changed in some immeasurable way. I feel I can walk forward with love and compassion, for both my life, and the lives of those I come in contact with. I don't know where all this will lead, but it doesn't really matter now. I'm gonna be ok.

Living Someone Else's Life

2009-07-09T09:00:00.000-07:00

What do you do when you wake up and realize one day that you have been living someone else's life? This is what I am going through right now. As I started out trying to figure out how I got to where I am today, emotionally, physically, spiritually, and financially, it has slowly been dawning on me that some where back, I lost my life, and stopped listening to my divine internal guidance system, and instead, started listening to what those around me thought I should be doing. And just that easily and unconciously, I slowly started doing what they thought I should be doing, not what I really wanted. As I read back along what I have written, its easy for me to see now, and to remember, where I was living my life, and where I started living someone else's life. When I fell in love with Henry all those years ago, I was truly living my own life. Happy to be seen and loved for who I was. He didn't want anything from me except authenticity. But the guilt, the fear, the "shoulds" of all those around me penetrated this beautiful feeling and acknowlegement of self, and I didn't have the courage to stay on that path. I went back to a man that was insecure, fearful, and desperately needy, because I listened to those around me about what I should do. I let go of a true deep spiritual love, and accepted a fearful, needy love, that on the surface made me feel good. I was needed, I could help this man. What a lie. And it then set the scene for so much of my life to come. I am waking up today, knowing for the first time without doubt in my heart, that I have spent these last 20+ years trying to live a life that other people thought I should have. There were brief glimmers of me finding myself, my voice, my spirit, but I allowed it to be paved over by fear, humiliation, uncertainty, and ego. The few times when I surfaced and broke free are vivid and stand out. When I followed my heart and married Dan, when I finally had the courage to leave him when that love turned to abuse, when I had the courage to follow my heart and start the record label, and then again, when that pure loving relationship with Mike degenerated into abuse and control, and I had the courage to walk away, knowing in my heart that it could be so much better, then again when I moved, and opened my store. And now today, I am on the precipe of change yet again, and it feels right. Exciting, scary, exhilarating. I know in my heart its time to walk away again, and reach for myself, my life. Things have played out the way they have so I could learn the lesson that dawned on me last night. I have been doing what the collective "them" have thought I should be doing, completely unconciously. And I'm ready to be present in my own life. I'm ready to let go of the fear and the worry and embrace joy, love, happiness and peace. I'm ready to create for myself. And maybe people will like it, and maybe they won't, but that's not my problem anymore. I choose to create my life for me, and me alone.

Hurts and joys of childhood

2009-07-06T09:39:00.000-07:00

Its summer, and the world resonaates with magic. I've always felt the magic, especially as a child. But as you get older, laughing, playing, believing in fairies and magic is strongly discouraged, and it leaves a wound that we spend the rest of our adult lives mourning the loss of, and striving to bring it back into our psyche, but never realizing that's what we're doing. I love summer for this very simple reason. It gives you permission to be like a child again. To have the simple joyous days and pleasures of childhood without any of the guilt and fear that generally accompanies this journey back to the past. Summer is warm and sultry. You can take your clothes off and romp in the sprinklers without anyone looking askance at you. You can eat ice cream and hot dogs and drink slurpees to your heart's content and its all ok. I am trying to bring back the joy and simplicity that I felt as a child. Not scared to death and worrying about how I'm going to pay my mortgage. No "shoulds" and no "can'ts" because after all, we're kids. What do children know of these things? Everything is possible, especially in summer. The air is warm until the sun goes down, and all life is spent outdoors, just enjoying, soaking in the sunshine and the magic that fills the air. My little garden is stuffed with beauty and bounty-- cherry tomatoes warmed by the sun that make a popping sound as you pluck them from the vine, an abundance of cosmos, fairy flowers I call them, spilling all over the place. If I were smaller, I would create a tunnel through the flowers, just for the sheer pleasure of it. That's what you would do if you were a kid. I'm longing for that joyful peaceful time, when you never worried about being safe, about having your needs met, about gaining weight because you ate icecream and drank lemonade all day long. I am striving to bring that simplicity back into my life. To gratefully, joyously open my arms to the pleasures that surround me, to the magic that fills this warm, nurturing loving days of the season. I am going back and allowing myself to have the things that made life wonderful as a child- lemon hostess pies, grape soda, 7-11 Slurpees, cherry and cola mixed, playing in the pool on my blow up floaty toy. I am relaxing into the magic tand mystery hat fills the air, and for a short moment, everything feels safe, bountiful, timeless. I am ok.

Parents and Children

2009-06-24T10:48:00.000-07:00

What is it about having your parents come to visit that is so stressful? I love my parents dearly, but I am a grown woman, and everytime they come to visit, it feels like I'm twelve again. Its frustrating and distracting and irritating and fun all rolled into one. My father is a one-man destruction unit. Everytime he comes, he's trying to do something to help around the house and he ends up destroying some thing that means alot to me. Yesterday it was my favorite vintage 1950s asian style lamp, worth alot of money. He destroyed the fragile lampshade and didn't even notice. When I asked him about it, he said "Oh, I can fix it with tape" Sigh.... Things have been incredibly stressful these last few weeks, and their surprise visit was not great timing. Usually they have everything scheduled down to the minute they're arriving and leaving , but for whatever reason, this trip was completely impromtu. Its their right, they're retired, so they don't have to be anywhere. But some warning is always nice so I can mentally prepare, get myself grounded so I don't instantly get into an argument with my dad or get upset or hurt by some thoughtless thing he says to me about my life. I couldn't help it this time. I am on edge and I had no time to mentally prepare, and I resented them being here, in my space, when all I needed really right now was my own routine, my own space, my own schedule, instead of adjusting to them. I ended up telling them this was a bad time for a visit, and it felt much better. But now I'm left with trying to feel like an adult again, like I have my own life, my own house , my own thoughts and feelings, likes and dislikes. It will take me several days to find myself again, and I am angry at myself for being knocked off my feet so easily. I'm trying, very hard, to stay grounded and remember who I am. But with everything that has been happening these last few weeks, I'm having trouble. The previous posts where I am tracing my path is helping, but there's still some disconnect, and having my parents here again treating me like a small kid again didn't help. So I put on my favorite records that always make me feel better, and I breathe.... and sing and dance and find myself again, just for a little bit.

Continuing the Journey

2009-06-21T10:16:00.000-07:00

A few posts back, I was in 1983, looking at my journey to date. We had all just moved into the 12th St. House as we called it, me and my boyfriend Matthew, Henry and anouther couple, Margaret and Randy into the upstairs, and Kendrick, Alex, Jay, and someone else who I can't remember, maybe Pete, into the downstairs. It was pretty great in the beginning. Big dinners together, hanging out listening to music, having lots of social time. I was in school, and working full time to support myself, so I was very busy. Things weren't going well with Matthew, and I was getting closer to Henry. We were so much on the same page about everything: music, people, life, family.... We began spending so much time together, laughing, studying, talking. He was beautiful and sweet, and he liked me, just the way I was. It was the first time I had ever been with someone who really saw me, and didn't try to force any illusion on me. I was falling in love, and he was too, and it was magical, sweet, passionate, honest and a little frightening. But I was still involved with Matthew, and even though what we had was nothing like what I was experiencing with Henry, I felt obligated to stay with him. He was a big fragile, and I felt guilty about hurting him, so I kept trying to make it work with him, and all the while, wanting to be with Henry. We hadn't done anything, we hadn't even kissed. We just were with eachother daily, gazing at eachother, giggling like little kids, just enjoying eachother. But that changed. We started to move towards a physical interaction, and I didn't want it to stop. But being raised Catholic, you get alot of lessons and guilt pounded into your head, and I knew it wasn't right to move forward without ending my prior relationship first, so I stopped things with Henry to try to end things with Matthew. It was awful when I told him about my feelings for Henry. He was so upset, crying, hurt, traumatized, and everyone was mad at me. Matthew perched on the windowsill, threatening to throw himself off the second story. It wouldn't have killed him, but I felt awful, terribly responsible, and guilty for causing him such hurt. So I relented, and agreed to stay with him, and reluctantly ended it with Henry. It broke my heart, but I was being a "good" person by staying with my boyfriend, and ending it with my lover. Looking back, it was the wrong decision, made for the wrong reasons. Henry was really the right guy for me, never asking me to be what I wasn't, just loving me for exactly the person I was. But I was too insecure, too frightened, too tormented to see it at the time, and too afraid to take a chance with someone new, instead opting for what I already knew. It was a lesson I would take forward with me, and one I needed to learn, but what a cost. The rest of the fall moved forward to winter. I still saw Henry, and we were friends, but he had started drinking and hanging out with people who were a little rough, a little off the edge. He had always been a brilliant musician, writing such incredible songs, and singing to me. He was now in a punk band, The Meister Bros. and careening off track. I tried to make things work with Matthew, but my heart wasn't in it. We didnt' have any heat in the house, and that winter became very cold, icy and snowy. The water froze over in the toilet it was so cold, and we would leave food out on the counter because the refrigerator was warmer than the surrounding air. In the spring, the household broke up, and we scattered to different locations. It was now 1984, and more shifts were on the way.

Back in San Francisco

2009-06-18T09:31:00.000-07:00

Its about 9:30, and i'm sitting at the infamous Phoenix Hotel in San Francisco, otherwise known as "The Rock n Roll Hotel". How appropriate to be staying here. Its my first time back in the city, just hanging out and playing tourist since 1998. I've been back here lots of times since then, but its always been about work. Bands on tour, visiting my then business partner.Effort, struggle, upsetment, disappointment. Never about hanging out and allowing the magic of the city to flow through my senses as I once did back in 1990 when I moved here. Its clear, sunny, beautiful, unusual for this city that is always so cold and foggy. This hotel has Tibetan statues, Buddhas, banana plants and other tropical foliage surrounding the courtyard. Its so peaceful, you would never know we're smack dab in the middle of the Tenderloin, one of the most dirty, scuzzy areas in the city. Bill is still sleeping, exhausted after our adventures roaming on Haight Street. I came face to face with my past in so many ways, it was a bit overwhelming. The record store I once spent so much time energy and emotion on is now a bland clothing store. Many of my old haunts are still there though: Club Deluxe, and the Gold Cane. Forever Books, All You Knead Cafe, some of the little boutique shops. All the old clubs like the I-Beam and The Nightbreak where I saw so many amazing bands are gone. There's so much new stuff though, some tacky, some beautiful, like the Tibetan import store filled with exotic carvings and spritual statues. I saw my old employee, Joel Gion, who joined Brian Jonestown Massacre shortly after I had to fire him for being so sweet, but such a flaky employee. It was a real joy to see him after all these years and tell him how proud I am of his success with his band. It was weird walking into Amoeba and recognizing him, but so wonderful. And he shared such a lovely memory with me: he was recently playing a Johnny Cash "Live" record, and thought of me, because I was the first one to turn him onto Johnny when we worked at Reckless together. I was touched and grateful. Its nice to know little things one is passionate about can touch someone else. We headed to Bottom of the Hill after hanging out and reconnecting with some old friends of Bill's from Wisconsin. The show was already in full-swing, with the super-cute Hot Toddies on stage. The Mansfields were out back at their merch booth, next to the Queers. I was so happy to see them. They're such sweet genuine guys, and truly guileless. They rock because they love it, end of story. No attitude. It was also a reminder form my past of the passion that kept me going all these years. I shared a story with the Queers merch guy about being an extra 15 years ago in the "Punk Rock Girls" video they filmed and how much fun it was. Enjoying music and people for the sake of it. The bands were wonderful, having fun and playing music and enjoying themselves, and the crowd enjoying them as well. It was odd being back at the Bottom of the Hill. Its been several years, maybe 3? I felt like an observer, there, but detached. Able to enjoy the music and people without getting sucked into the drama that always seems to surround these sorts of clubs. One of my oldest girlfriends, Deb, was able to come down and hang out for a bit. We share a big chunk of our past through our former employer Mordam Records. I have been able to release much of the hurt and betrayal that filled a portion of my life so long ago. But many of my old friends are still haunted by that time. But to see her now with her new life as an acupunturist, it was a reminder that everything moves, everything changes, and it all is part of our journey forward as humans to discover who we are and what our true path is. She's radiantly beautiful, shining with a deep inner peace that was never there when we worked at the drama pit of Mordam. I deeply appreciate where I am now in life in this world of rock n' roll. Being able to see and love and embrace the pleasures and beautiful people that have graced my life, and continue to grace my life. There's a lesson here that I am still trying to distill, but I know it goes something like this: look at the pain and drama of the past- there is always something to learn and lead you forward. Bring that lesson into the present day as you evolve and grow. You may not be able to discern what that lesson is till many years later, but eventually it will come. What was I supposed to learn these last 2 days as I struggle with trying to see my path forward? The kindness, the joy, the laughter, the music, the passion--those are the things that leave an even deeper impression than the dramas. Looking at my life now, as new things move into my awareness, there are still amazing experiences and emotions from the past that one can always hang on to, and create anew if you're open with new people and new experiences.

Painful lessons from the past

2009-06-13T08:33:00.000-07:00

I haven't felt like writing for the last week or so. I've been writing in my journal, but its for me, to work stuff out and have a safe place to share my inner most thoughts. I have been looking back at my past, how I got to where I am today, tracing the twists and turns of a very overgrown, very windy path. Much of who I am today is in response to the hurts, the abuses, the pain of the past. A very turbulent relationship with my dad, abuse and mistreatment by old boyfriends and trusted girlfriends, a terrible marriage, an abusive insecure business partner. Trying to find me in all of this, and why I've gone through so much hurt is a bit of a treasure hunt. There has to be some gifts, some gems that I can take with me as I look towards my future. There's gotta be a reason for all that I've endured. There always is, if you take the time to look back and trace the routes. They always say hindsight is 20/20, and its true. Now, years down the road, I look back and I can see why much of my life unfolded the way it did. Right now, I'm too deeply in it to get a clear picture. But I know much of what Iv'e gone through has strengthened me, defined my character, helped me to be more compassionate to others as well as to myself. So what does all this mean? How do I take the hurts, the lessons of the past to create a stronger, clearer path and present time for myself? How do I clear the overgrowth so I can move forward a stronger, better person? Much of what I learned is this: people are so frightened, so insecure themselves that to make themselves feel better, they often shove pain onto those around them. And if you're an honest open person, who accepts what is being given at face value, its difficult to see its not your garbage that is collecting around you, but the hurts and pains of others. I accepted much abuse from others in the past because I didn't realize it wasn't mine. These abusive negative people just wanted to feel better themselves and the only way they knew how was to throw it at me. It doesn't make me a martyr the way my ex-business partner claims, it makes me an honest caring person who really didn't see what the game was, and accepted it as reality. What a lie, what bullshit. But I don't have to live with it now. I can see what the game was, and can see now it was never about me. I just got sucked up in their torment, and wasn't able to separate my reality from theirs. That is my lesson of the past. I am ok, just the way I am. Its ok to be sensitive and caring and compassionate, as long as I don't take their problems and hurt inside and make it my own. Fuck those people for what they did to me, but thank you for helping me see now it was never about me. They just didn't know any better. I have finally found the anger, and I can use it now to clear out much of the lies of the past. Clear my present path as I move forward today for myself. No body else matters right now.

Life on the Edge

2009-06-10T08:53:00.001-07:00

I haven't felt like writing for a few days, although I've continued to write daily in my journal. I'm gonna put my exploration of my past on hold for a bit, and look at where I am right now, today. These past 9 years have been pretty tough. Its a bit of a shock when you realize you've spent so much time living for someone else, for their dreams, their ideas, their needs. Its especially shocking when you come face to face with that reality, when all along, you thought you were following your own dreams and ideas. I guess that's what going on a creative diet feels like. I somehow conciously decided or accepted the lie that I didnt' know what the hell I was doing. I didnt' have any creative visions or abilities, so I should just leave the creative side of life to the experts. Now, as I seek to uncover the dreams, the drive that lay at the core of my life these last 9 years, its heartbreaking, and shocking. I feel like I've been on auto-pilot and moved to the back of the plane to take a nap. I'm just waking up, and surprise! Look where all my time and energy have gone! I can honestly say that I don't really recognize alot of the projects I've put my name to. And why should I? They weren't really answers to my dreams. I was trying to bring someone else's dreams to life. And now as I look at the ruins that lay before me, I see it all plainly for the first time in many years. I am not happy with this. I wasn't creating for myself. I was creating to meet an image, and I hate that image. Its not me, it never was. Going back and looking at the past is insanely painful. Yet I'm looking for the grain of truth, of me, hidden in there. If I can find that, nurture it, and trust in the Universe and Spirit to help get it moving and growing again, I'll be ok. I know I've been going down these overgrown hidden paths for a reason, and I have to have faith that it will come clear eventually. It always does. But when you're right in the middle of the storm , it seems like life will never be blessed with warm sunny days again. But there are little miracles all around. The gift of smell, connecting me with better times in the past: fresh mown grass, cloudy cool days reminding me of my childhood in Oregon. Fresh baked cinnamon rolls. Flowers bursting out of the ground, filling the landscape with color. Soft quiet moments looking at the Buhdda in my garden, reminding me to look for the calm within. The feel of the earth on my hands, knowing I'm connected to her, even if I can't feel it right at this moment. I'll be ok, I just need to keep asking for Grace and Peace to come sit with me while I go through the difficult phase of sorting out the boxes of dreams and dusty papers.

Be all you can be

2009-06-05T09:24:00.000-07:00

I was never self concious. As a child I always spoke my mind and while it made people laugh, it also freaked people out. I never was one to edit my opinions, why should I? And I just followed my heart, trying things that sounded fun or interesting. Kind of like Jim Carey in his newest film "Yes Man". Except I was never afraid of trying things. It made me seem a little weird. I see that now, but at the time, I just listened to what my insides were prompting me to do. When I was in 5th grade, I went through a major Little House on the Prairie phase. My mom made me a pinafor, and a sunbonnet, and also a "floppy hat', one of those cute night caps that the Ingalls girls wore to bed at night. I didn't think twice about wearing my pinafore and sun bonnet to school. My teacher, Mr. Ricchi thought I was nuts, and even wrote a letter home to my mom saying that the other girls teased me because I was wearing such weird clothes. But the funny thing was, I don't remember the girls teasing me. I must have just let it roll off my back, because I kept wearing my sunbonnet to school. It gave me such pleasure! I really dug my sunbonnet! I was a dreamy kid. I was always imagining stuff, and I distinctly remember imagining that I was going to school out on the open prairie. I remember hanging my sunbonnet up on the peg in the coat room and thinking it was just like in the pioneer days. I loved 5th grade, and I had a huge crush on my teacher. He was incredibly handsome-- dark eyes, thick wavy black hair, a big bushy moustache, a great smile. He was very kind to me, even though he thought I was weird. We would write poetry and paint and he was always very encouraging of my creative attempts. How does all this fit in with my look back on how I got into the music industry? The point is that I followed my own beat, even as a child. And that stayed with me until I really tried to start "fitting in" to the punk scene. In the summer of 1983, all of my housemates scattered to the 4 winds. I was the only responsible one in the house, and I was left paying off the utility bills, closing things up, cleaning the house. It sucked, but it needed to be done, so I did it. My boyfriend went to England to visit his family for the summer, and I was headed to Malhuer Wildlife Refuge in Southeastern Oregon to take field classes for the summer. I signed up for Aboriginal Survival Skills taught by Jim Riggs. I was gonna learn how to live like the native Paiutes of that area lived- collecting and preparing native plants for food and medicine, learning how to flint-knap obsidian to make weapons and utensils, tanning deer hides to make mocassins and other clothing, stuff like that. I was an Anthropology major, and this fit right in with my focus of study-- the native Americans of the Great Basin area. We ended the class by going out into the desert for a week, living off whatever we could scavenge, with just a knife and a blanket and our little group of 10 students and Jim. It was the most incredible experience. I ate cicadas, those super loud chirping black bugs that you hear in the summer but never see, rattlesnake, marmet, fish, lots of plants and berries. We slept under the stars, built a sweat lodge, and studied the surrounding landscape. I didn't think twice about taking part in this incredible experience. It just seemed to be the most natural thing in the world. When we got picked up at the agreed upon rondezvous point, we were all tired, hungry but elated. We feasted and celebrated that we had survived. I went back to Corvallis for several weeks and stayed with my parents, before heading back to the desert to work as a cook to help pay off my tuition. By that time I was in love with the desert- so fresh, so clean, so sparse, yet so compelling. I was in love with the spontaneous nature of the whole field station. We were in the middle of nowhere, 30 miles from the closest town, Burns Oregon in one direction, French Glen in the other. I met a boy and had a brief affair with him, but felt terribly guilty about it because of my boyfriend. But I was living with no limits, no restrictions, just following my heart, open and honest. The summer ended and it was time to head back to school. I started looking for a place to live, and found the 12th st. house. I had broken up with Matthew when he got back from England, but we made up and agreed to move in together again. Henry came to live with us, and two of our other friends, also a couple, Margaret and Randy. Downstairs 4 more of our friends moved in, and we were all together again for another year. This was the fall of 1983 and life was about to make another massive shift.

Backing up a bit

2009-06-04T15:40:00.000-07:00

Let me back up a bit in time. 1982: I had just moved out of my parents' house into an amazing house just off of campus. Things had gotten tense at home, me and my dad were not seeing eye to eye, and it was just better that I left. I found a room in my boss's house for $75 a month, which was doable since I worked about 25 hours a week at the University Library. I was set to graduate highschool in a week, and I was so excited to finally have my own place where my boyfriend could come over and not feel like we were being watched constantly. I was listening to bands like Pink Floyd, Moody Blues, Peter Gabriel, King Crimson, The Kinks, The Who, Ac/Dc, Cheap Trick... and of course the Grateful Dead. My boyfriend Matthew was from England, and he had turned me onto alot of this stuff, and all our friends were into the whole hippie thing, taking drugs, zoning out listening to music, esoteric discussions.... I wasn't really like that, but I just liked the music and the energy. That summer we went to a bunch of Dead shows, hitchhiking to California, being a bit crazy and wild. It was fun, it was something totally different from what I grew up with, and I just went along for the ride. That fall, my boyfriend moved in with me, much to my mother's extreme upsettment. She told me he was no longer welcome to visit their house, but I could come alone if I wanted to see them. Otherwise, they would not contact me at all. We invited all our friends to move in with us since it was such a huge house. I think there was maybe 10 of us living there. Henry moved in, and we really hit it off. He was the one who turned me onto the whole punk scene. I had listened to the Ramones and Sex Pistols and Clash in highschool, but that was about it. I had no idea there was shows that happened in small divey clubs and VFW halls that pepole could just go to. I was used to going to the big stadium shows where I had seen The Kinks and The Moody Blues. He was playing the Dead Kennedys all the time, and my other room mates were totally pissed off about it. They wanted to hear The Grateful Dead. We laughed alot about it, but one day, completely by accident, Henry recorded a Dead Kennedys album over a live Grateful Dead tape. Yikes, all hell broke loose and I think he was asked to move out. We were hanging out alot and there was definitely an undercurrent of attraction there, but at that point, nothing had happened. I was still an impressional kid of 18, and I was just going with the flow. I was crazy about Henry, but I was loyal to Matthew too. That year, when we went to the fairgrounds to see The Dead Kennedys play, no one else wanted to go, so me and henry went together and had a blast. I didn't know it at the time, but that was the point when my whole life started to change.

I'm not cool

2009-06-03T08:07:00.000-07:00

You know the line in "Almost Famous" where Lester Bangs tells the kid "Oh no, they made you feel cool. I've met you, and you're not cool!" Well, let me tell you, I really relate to that line. Anyone who's met me knows I'm just me. I don't play games, I'm as honest as the day is long, I just say it like it is. I dress the way I dress, I read what I read, I march to my own drummer. But when I got involved with this world of underground music, people like me don't really fit in. Now I know that sounds completely different from what you've heard in the past-- its all about the music, anyone can do it, anyone is accepted as long as you're being AUTHENTIC. But I can tell you, that's just plain bullshit. Its really not that way at all. People in "the scene" are threatened by anyone who doesn't follow the unwritten rules about how you're supposed to dress, how you're supposed to act, who you're supposed to be. I slowly began to discover this the more I went out to shows. Everyone looked "the part", like they had all read some manual about how you were supposed to dress and wear your hair. I of course, was just being me. Totally into the music for the passion, the energy, the emotion of it all. But it started to dawn on my that I was an outsider: I didn't look like I belonged in those seedy divey clubs. I had long hair, I wore skirts and not alot of make up. I didn't try to alter myself very much, I was just comfortable. I wore t shirts ,but they didn't have the right band names on them. Even though by now I was the music director at one of the largest college radio stations on the west coast, (I think we were broadcasting around 10, 000 watts), and I was helping expose these bands by getting them played on the radio, they weren't so interested in talking to me because I didn't look cool. It was never overt, but when you're really smart like me and very observant, you can tell. You pick up the unspoken vibe, the look, the subtle snub as someone who looks more "like someone" comes along to talk. I didn't stop interviewing bands, or writing reviews of their msuic, and I certainly wasn't gonna stop going to shows, but I started to become aware that if I wanted to pursue this I needed to adapt. One night while we were all drinking and listening to music (The Cramps "Songs The Lord Taught Us"), I got my friend Karena to chop all my hair off. I dyed it bright henna red, and then felt a bit more like I fit in. Its funny, when you're an anthropologist like me, you can conduct little cultural experiments and no one ever knows. It was amazing how differently I started to get treated now that I looked more the part. The subtle snubs, the looking around for someone more hip to be seen with, it all disappeared. Now you could say it was all in my head, but I'm a scientist at heart-- I'm always observing, analyzing, even though I'm also an artist. I was the research project, and I was conducting experiments with myself as the bait. Once I looked more like I belonged, it was easier to get the interview, to hang out with the bands, to be at the hip parties. I was still the same me on the inside, but now I LOOKED the same as everyone else, so I was no longer a threat. Totally weird how that works, but it was true. I fell for the lie, the acceptance, the feeling of finally "being cool" even though it was never about that. Boys started talking to me and flirting with me at shows, I got backstage to talk to the bands, I was finally a part of it all. I no longer felt like an observer. I was allowed into the inner sanctum because I finally knew the password.

1987 continued...

2009-06-02T08:29:00.000-07:00

So after the Flaming Lips, there were many other bands that I became that enamoured with. R.E.M was next. I had been playing their records for the last year and had joined their fan club so I was getting all sorts of cool handwritten stuff from Michael Stipe and Peter Buck. They were playing a show in Eugene, I don't remember the club. Me and my best gal-pal Libby were both fanatical about their music and of course wouldn't miss the show for anything. It was a magical night: we were right in front for the whole show, and afterwards got to hang out with the band. I still have the poster that they all signed that night for me. Sweet, shy and seeming a bit overwhelmed by all the attention, they were all fun to talk to, but I spent the most time with Mike Mills. He was an absolute doll, and we had alot in common. They played the next night in Portland, and of course Libby and I were at that show as well. I ran into Mike and we hung out and flirted with eachother before the show, and promised to meet up afterwards, but it was so crazy, we never reconnected. They had a magical haunting quality to their music that just sucked me in. It was passionate, but introspective, cryptic but universal all at the same time. I couldn't get over how deeply their songs touched me. Shortly after that experience, I saw The Replacements play, and again, I was captivated. The rawness, the spontanaity of their performance and the complete unpredictablity all sucked me in. I ended up in the pit (yes, there was indeed a pit at a Replacements show) getting bashed about and swirled around with all the boys going wild. It was alot of fun, but pretty intense and a little bit scary. I was supposed to interview them after the show for the radio show, but when I went backstage, they were beyond wasted, and a bit frightening. I introduced myself and told them we were supposed to do an interview, but clearly, that was not what they had in mind. I was too intimidated to push it and ended up slipping out of the backstage area without my interview, mad at myself for not being brave enough to make Paul Westerberg sit down and talk with me. I have to laugh at myself now about how scared I was. I had not quite grasped the concept of the value of interviews, and still felt like they were doing me a favor instead of the other way around. I learned alot about myself that night.

The Journey continued...

2009-05-30T07:56:00.000-07:00

I've gotten a bit disillusioned lately. All the work I've put into my label doesn't seem to mean anything anymore, and its left me questioning whether I want to keep going on the path I've chosen for myself. As I look back on how I ended up where I am today, I see threads of the passion that kept me going all these years. By sharing this path with you, I am seeking to remind myself of just exactly how I got to where I am today. Maybe it will help uncover the reasons I kept at this for so long, despite the many setbacks that have filled this journey.

So the year is 1987. I'm a DJ at KBVR, 88.7 in Corvallis OR. I'm a senior I think, seeking to get my degree in Cultural Anthropology with and emphasis in Ethnobotany, a relatively new field of study. Of course, most of my classes revolve around literature, film, 20th century studies, contemporary culture. I'm rarely taking any anthropology classes these days. I'm working full time, balancing 3 jobs, plus a full-time course schedule, as well as volunteering at the radio station. When I look back, I'm amazed at what I did. Where did that energy and drive come from? I was dating a beautiful man who loved me and wanted to be with me, but I wanted to be around the music, around the bands, around other people who loved the music as much as I did. He couldn't compete, and wasn't happy about it, and so I ended it with him. Dale is still one of my dearest friends today, and I am so grateful to have him in my life. Of course, at that point, I couldn't see the gifts he brought me, but that's the joy of hindsight. I was driving up to Portland at least once a week to see shows for the bands I was playing on the air: Soundgarden, Green River, and later Mudhoney, Nirvana, The Miracle Workers, Dead Moon, Swallow, Poison Idea, The Wipers aka Greg Sage.... this list is endless, and I was endlessly fascinated. I ended up becoming music director for the station, and spent countless hours pouring over records, deciding which ones should get the attention of the DJs and which ones could be merely added to the library. About this time, I fell in love with a band called The Flaming Lips. Funny scruffy guys from Norman Oaklahoma. They had a new record out on Pink Dust Records, "Hear It Is" that I had absolutely flipped over. I had purchased a copy at the local record store, Audio Addict, on the very sought after white vinyl, and I was in heaven. I found out they were coming out on tour, and scheduled to meet them and interview them. Wayne and the boys came and talked with me on the air, and played live in the studio, and that night, I followed them down to Eugene, OR for one of the most mind-blowing shows of my life. Smoke machines, strobe lights, mind-bending guitar solos; it was pretty incredible and I was star-struck. I invited them to stay at my apartment if they needed a place to stay, and to my surprise, they took me up on the offer. 3 sweaty scruffy boys and me, all crowded into my little one-bedroom apartment above the coffee shop I worked at. I made them spaghetti, and we hung out and listened to records, drank and talked until late in the night. In the morning I made them breakfast and they gave me a t shirt to say thanks. Then they headed to Portland to play the Satyricon that night, and I was to follow after my classes that day. My best friend Libby and I met up at the show and enjoyed another insane night of music and hanging out. They were the coolest guys, very sweet, very gracious and down to earth. I can't remember where they stayed, I seem to recall them coming back to Libby's parents' house with us, but my memory is hazy. Thus began my continued love affair with these sweet boys from Norman. They stayed with me several times after that, each time they would come through town. The shows were always fun and incredibly spontaneous. You just never knew what was gonna happen, what crazy machine they had that would blow the power in the tiny clubs they were playing. I was so proud of them when they ended up making it after all their years of hard work. I saw Wayne when they played to Warfield in SF in 1993 0r 94, and he remembered me. What a gentleman, and what an artist. They deserve every bit of success and recognition they have, and I feel very proud, happy and grateful I got to be a part of their journey, however small it was.

How did I get here?

2009-05-29T08:45:00.000-07:00

I ask myself this alot. What was my path to where I am now? It all seems to just have happened, I just kept following the doors as they opened. It all started in 1982, when I went to see the Dead Kennedys play with the Miracle Workers at the fairgrounds in Corvallis, OR, with my then sweetheart Henry. I was so blown away, I had never seen or heard music like that before. It became embedded in my soul, and I had to have more. I was a freshman in college at that point, majoring in Anthropology. What the hell WAS this stuff? What was this underbelly of culture that I had stumbled into? Slowly, that world opened up to me: a scared weird girl who had always followed her own inner beat, never fitting in anywhere, but welcome everywhere. I just was who I was, and didn't know anything different. It seems I had stumbled onto a group of people that were like me, just following the internal rhythm of their souls, and expressing it for all to see. I wanted that! I started going to the parties of "those people", the hip, the cool, the in-the-know people, who listened to all this weird music. I was always observing, looking to see what made them tick. I started listening to the local college radio station, KBVR, and found myself entranced. One day, somehow, I ended up at a meeting introducing people to the radio station and how they could get involved, and that was all it took. Just one look, one glimpse, and I was a goner. I began my apprenticeship, and my life opened up. I was scared to death at first, finding music to play, speaking on the air, but eventually it became as natural as breathing. I LOVED this world! I began going to shows, listening to everything I could get my hands on, and eventuallly began writing reviews for The Barometer, the college paper, and conducting interviews with bands live on air, over the phone, and in person at shows. I remember the first time I met Sound Garden. Chris Cornell was beautiful, his long curly locks flopping in his face as he sang. He was so sweet, so genuine, so kind to my stumbled muttered questions and praises. I was one of the first people in Corvallis to play Sound Garden's "Screaming Life" record on the air. I had found it at a record store in Portland, OR, 2nd Ave. Records, which is still there. I bought it because the cover looked cool, and the record was a bright life-saver candy orange color. I bought it and played it on my show that night and about a week later, a copy arrived at the station, to be added to the list of regularly played records. That was it for me, I was off and running.....

Gay Marriage Ban Prop 8

2009-05-26T10:16:00.000-07:00

I'm not surprised that the decision to make gay marriage illegal was upheld. Its all based in fear-- fear of the unknown, fear of how straight people might be affected, fear of change, fear of something different. Think about it. We saw the exact same fight and struggle when blacks were fighting for their rights. So much fear surrounding the entire debate and discussion. Its all selfish ignorance. People worried about what might be taken away from them if they allow others to have what they have. Ignorance and fear. Its the bane of folks striving for equality in all areas of life. Its the exact same thing as women stuggling to get the vote. FEAR. Let it go people. Why do you think it will change your life if you give others the same rights you have? What are you afraid will be taken away from you? Why should you be able to have something as beautiful as a recognized marriage, and same sex couples can't get the same thing? Is your love BETTER? Huh? Is this a competition? Its ignorance and fear, pure and simple. Eventually, this too will change and it will be seen as part of the every day fabric of our life, just as women being able to vote, and blacks and other minorities being seen as deserving of the same rights as whites. It will happen, and it is worth the struggle.

Thoughts for the Day

2009-05-23T08:40:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about setting up a blog for a while now, but something always got in the way, and I just figured I'd do it when I had time. I'm always writing, always thinking and putting together little essays in my head, so its time now to get them out, and let you read them. This blog will be a mixture of music reviews, personal ramblings, thoughts, comments and introspection as I move forward figuring out where I want my life to go. I hope you enjoy it, and if not, well, that's not really my concern. I know I'll enjoy it, so that's all that matters! Have a lovely day!