routines

So I've recently come into a morning routine. Recently like about a week ago. I'm not a routine person, never really aspired to or desired more routine in my life.... I've always preferred to be spontaneous and to go with the flow and all that kind of thing. But every now and then I'm reminded of the value of a routine, especially in certain inherently repetitive aspects of life. Morning is going to be roughly the same thing whether I have a routine or not: there will be waking, coffee, preparing our kid's lunch, getting breakfast on the table, making sure said kid gets to school, getting my own butt to work, etc. So when someone suggested a morning routine to me, I decided to give it a try. It's nothing new, no new ideas of what to include in that routine, just plugging in a little time for meditation. In my case, some in the house and then while the oatmeal is baking (dude, haven't tried baked oatmeal yet? check it out) taking the dog for a walk around the park. I'm not very good at routine, though, because I've been so resistant to it my entire life. Last week went pretty well with it until Sunday morning when I just slept in because that's what one does on Sunday mornings. Then Monday morning went alright, but Tuesday morning I just wasn't getting out of bed yet. This morning I'm up earlier than my "official" routine starts, which is why I'm here.

And now I'm at a loss as to what to write. I think I had an idea of what I wanted to write, but now it's gone. Lost in the mire of routine.

writing just to write - 4 March 2017

I don't know what I'm going to write here. I'm just writing. I keep getting these reminders of how hard it is to write if you don't practice, and I don't practice. There are reasons. Always reasons. Excused. I'm a slave to King Busy. I'm a father, a husband, a small business owner, no one's paying me to write and I've got "better" things to do with my time. But is it "better" to stare at facebook for an extra 20 minutes? Last week, I spent 83 minutes watching the worst movie I've ever seen. Literally. What could I have written in those 83 minutes? I don't know. I'll never know, but I can find out what I'll write in the next 10 minutes right now, and that's exactly what I'm planning to do. Cave mode is on. Well, not literally, because I'm on the Foley stage computer and that control room is not cave compatible, but the browser only has one tab open (this one), the email client is quit, my phone is in silent mode (and screen-side down), and the rest of the house is still sleeping. So I've got nothing better to do than write. Just write. Not edit. Maybe I'll do that later, maybe I won't. This is full on stream of consciousness writing at the moment, though, although I can't seem to stop myself from occasionally pausing to think about what comes next and definitely can't stop my fingers from correcting typos. That's just muscle memory, I think, but the former.... is that a bad habit or a good one developing? I think it's a good one developing. I want to go back and edit that sentence, but I'm not going to. I think the pause and think where is this stream going... that's a good thing, I think, even if I don't go anywhere interesting with it. Which I'm not doing right now. Certainly not. I'm just writing. Well, listening to Beyoncé and writing. I guess that's not really cave mode compatible, is it? But it does seem to go with writing better than it does with dialog editing, and I do it with dialog editing sometimes, too (low volume comparatively, and preferably instrumental music), so I'll allow it. I'm not in airplane mode, though, which is what I usually do in cave mode on the phone. I don't think that makes a big difference, though, at least not today. Pausing to sip coffee is definitely cave mode compatible. And, now, my kid is out of bed, 4 minutes before I'd said I'd keep writing.

the creative process

Today I had the distinct pleasure of screening a short movie which has not yet been released, and while I'm dying to gush about it I don't think I'm allowed to yet. But I can and will say that my creative juices are flowing in the aftermath of watching this. I don't trust myself to say any more right now.

Yeah, well....

So much for daily writing. I have been keeping a journal on paper, but it's a week-at-a-glance calendar and I'm keeping it just to track a few details of my day, not to write. Oh, well....

daily writing

Yeah, so Virginia Woolf kept a diary. Yeah, so I used to keep one. I have at several times in my life, although I don't know that I ever did it daily or with the same diligence and discipline of Ms. Woolf, but I do think it helped me in intangible ways when I was doing it. I don't have a decent place to do it in the house right now, and I want to do it more, so until I buy a new old school one with paper and stuff, I'm just going to make an effort to write here more regularly. Again. I've made this effort before. I've set myself goals, some of which are found in the history, and some which only I know. I haven't kept those goals. I'm still not the writer I fancy myself, not even casually and certainly not in any way that's useful or productive professionally. But I'll keep trying. It's stream of consciousness right now (in case that isn't obvious) and I sat down knowing I didn't have "enough" time to devote to it tonight, so it's going to be short and disjointed. Which is interesting. More interesting, maybe, than long and disjointed, but probably not as interesting as short and concise. Perhaps. Perhaps would've been a better word than maybe, but even though I went back to correct a typo right there, I resisted the urge to edit the word. And now I'm out of time for tonight. There you have it.

Memories of the Texas State Troopers

I was pulled over in Texas. It was a Thursday night, probably around 10pm, and I was on my way from Albuquerque to Kalamazoo, MI. Yes, I was speeding. I was clocked at 83 in a 75 and that seems about right. (The car has an analog speedometer, so it's hard to be precise even with the cruise control on.) I saw headlights shining on the shoulder, had time to think "huh, that's odd, wonder what's--" and then drive through the headlights and think "oh, crap, I just drove through a speed trap." Sure enough, he pulled out, caught up, and pulled me over. He was very clear from the start that he was going to issue me a warning, but he also wanted me to get out of the car and come with him while he was running my license and plate, which struck me as odd. It turned out he suspected me of running drugs. That might've had something to do with the bag of freshly roasted Hatch green chile in the back seat, but my hunch is it was mostly about a sporty coupe at that time of day on that stretch of Interstate. The officer was never rude or especially threatening to me, but he clearly didn't trust me from the moment he started asking me questions. I suppose it's probably my nervous demeanor, and by the time he was searching my car, another cop had arrived on the scene who even asked if I was "a nervous person?" My response was "not especially, no," although in retrospect I wish I'd said "when I'm pulled over, asked to get out of my car, interrogated about drugs that might be in my possession, asked to stand 20 feet off the freeway in 50° weather wearing nothing more than what was comfortable in a heated car while two cops rifle through my belongings looking for something they're not going to find but which would cost me my freedom if someone thought it would be funny to plan on me? Yeah, I'm a little nervous then." The other thing I wanted to say at the time, but it's probably better I didn't, was "do you encounter a lot of people who aren't nervous in a situation like this one?" This was after I'd been given no less than 4 opportunities to tell the cops about a "small quantity of marijuana" I might have either in the car or on my person. Honestly, officer, if I'd had any, I would've told you right off the bat. I haven't been in possession of even a small quantity of marijuana since before that car was built, before any of the clothes I was wearing were made, so I'm 100% confident I'm not forgetting anything.

Eventually, whether I was nervous or not, no matter how convinced they were that I was lying, they either satisfied themselves that I wasn't carrying any drugs or they got bored and decided to catch another fish in the barrel to see if the drugs were easier to find. It took me a few minutes to get my car put back together enough to carry on with my road trip, I snapped a picture over my shoulder which didn't come out at all, and went on my way. The 2nd cop had already left and the 1st one pulled out faster than I and had caught someone else before I even caught up to him. I set the cruise control to the low side of the 75 line on my speedometer and got out of Texas as quickly and efficiently as I could without taking the chance of meeting one of his colleagues.

So here's the open letter part of this blog. It didn't really occur to me at the time how much old, boring, white-guy privilege I'd just enjoyed. I'm not saying I would've been shot or even handcuffed had I not been an old, boring, white guy (although who knows?), but the interaction would have been different. If I'm perceived as a threat because I'm nervous, it's not a far walk to think someone who is nervous, maybe has a chip on their shoulder because they get pulled over more often than I do, and more accurately fits the "profile" of drug runner, had longer hair, was wearing a cheeky graphic tee and tattered jeans, the smell in the car wasn't roasted chiles but the roach in the ash tray. So far I'm describing myself not that many years ago on a similar road trip. (I don't actually remember smoking marijuana in the car on a long solo road trip, but I'm not going to say it never happened.) Then imagine if I'm not white, that ads something to the equation. Maybe that's more the profile the Texas State Troopers were looking for, maybe it's not, but non-white people are more exposed to being profiled and someone who's been profiled before is more likely to get defensive in that situation. Defensiveness is surely a red flag. My lovely wife also pointed out this is why it's different taking a solo road trip if you're a woman. What? Surely, the cop thinks the woman is less of a threat, right? Less suspicious? Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn't matter. A woman has a totally different feeling being alone on the side of the freeway in the middle of nowhere with a strange man, even if he is wearing a uniform.

So much is made by the "all lives matter" crowd of how the suspect should behave. If only these young black men would just go along with being questioned, searched, detained, they'd still be alive. When was the last time you were pulled over? What were the circumstances? Did you remember everything about staying calm, calling the officer "sir," not being nervous, or at least not showing it? I reminded myself as I was slowing down and pulling off the road, and I still blew it. I forgot to call the officer "sir" until he started asking about drugs in the car, and I'm sure that made me seem even more nervous than if I hadn't suddenly started calling him "sir." There should be a presumption of innocence in these encounters, on both sides. I don't know about cop training, but I do know the legal system is designed to presume a suspect is innocent even as they're being arrested and booked. I know enough about human nature to know there's no way cops make that presumption, even if they are trained to. I also know enough about human nature to know I distrusted those cops. I literally watched a Washtenaw County Sherrif drop a firecracker as he was bending down to pick it up saying "oh, look at this? I thought you guys said you didn't have any fireworks?" I've been pulled over in a car full of teenage boys because of a "visual obstruction" (graduation tassel on the rearview mirror). These are not major abuses of power, but they play into me being nervous when a cop is searching my car for evidence of a felony.

The cop who pulled me over did everything right in terms of trying to make me comfortable: he told me before he asked me out of the car he was going to issue a warning (not a ticket), when he did bring up drugs he made it clear (repeatedly) that what he suspected I was most likely to be carrying would not be a big deal, he never treated me like a criminal or someone he was afraid of (until he had me stand so far off the highway.... I'm still not sure I understand that one--it felt like either intimidation or to get me out of sight of the dashboard camera). But they both treated me like they didn't trust me. They asked me the same questions over and over to check for inconsistencies. They played good cop bad cop with me (mildly, but still, I recognize the game). They questioned my story with incredulity. ("Your college reunion, eh? Do you remember what month you graduated in? Why is your reunion in October?")

I wouldn't be surprised if this was a stop the officer barely remembers because it went so smoothly. If they do remember one thing about it, I'm sure it's the bag of Hatch. Why a cop from the state next to New Mexico had never seen that before is a mystery to me, but maybe this is their first autumn on the job. They were both pretty young.

I'll tell you what happened on the return trip, though, the unintended consequence of this routine traffic stop. I made it a point to gas up, caffeine up, and bathroom break it up enough in Oklahoma and close enough to the border so that I wouldn't have to stop on my way through the panhandle of Texas. I pinned that cruise control to 75MPH and made my way through Texas without spending a dime in their economy. I've driven through Texas on I-40 at least a half dozen times in my life and I'm certain that's the first time I didn't spend any money there.

ponderings on hearing loss from a professional sound guy, chapter 2: the drama

DISCLAIMER:

Most importantly, let me assure you the reader now that my hearing is not currently compromised in any way.

I'm not going to post this at the same time I'm writing it. Another thing, I'm not experiencing permanent hearing loss. Yet. But I am getting to an age and in the business I'm in, every time my ears get plugged with wax I start thinking "is this it?" The whole idea in writing it is to document my experiences of my hearing as I go through little hiccups as I have recently. Being a professional sound guy, I'm concerned about damaging my career by even talking about it, which is why I don't publish as I write, have written and will continue to write some of these ponderings with paper and pen to transcribe later.

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ponderings on hearing loss from a professional sound guy
chapter 2: the drama

I can't remember the last time I could hear properly. It feels like months, probably been weeks, maybe even days. I know it's getting bad when I seek professional help to clean the wax out. I don't really trust other people with my ears. I've had a few bad experiences, but nothing really dangerous. The worst was an audiologist who used a metal scoop to dig out wax. Sure, she used water, too, and even water mostly, but the metal scoop was another go-to tool in her arsenal and it hurt. Worse than the use of metal, though, was her complete lack of compassion over the pain and fear I was experiencing.

So I usually get to this point where I'm on the verge of panic, my mind running around and spinning on the dangers of permanent hearing loss. I'm sure I'm going deaf, positive this is the time it's not just wax, that I'm really loosing it for good. It's only after a day or two of that kind of panic that I call the doctor's office for a lavage. (Pro tip: skip the audiologist and find a good MA who does ear lavage.) I had that lavage yesterday and I still can't hear out of either ear. I mean, I can hear, just not very well. I figure I'm loosing about 20-30dB above 1kHz. That's pretty serious. The standard reply (even from a good MA who is good at ear lavage) is "sometimes it takes a little while for your hearing to come back. And that's a standard response because it's true. My ears suffer trauma just like any other part of my body, and sometimes it takes a little while to really feel relief of symptoms after trauma. Still and all, there's always a really great moment in a good lavage for me. An a-ha moment. It's like that moment when you're swimming and the water drains out of your ear. A sort of crackly aural sunrise. A beautiful feeling of getting back what was feared to be lost. I never had that feeling on this lavage, but I took the MA's word for it: she could see my ear drums and it might just be water and would clear soon. It didn't.

So a few days later, here I am, back in the doctor's office. My regular doc (actually a CNP, but what the heck, she's a healer, so I'm good with "doc") is listening to my paranoid ramblings very patiently. You see, I've been "researching" my condition. You know, the kind of research where you sit up late at night staring at a computer screen (or your phone) and decide you must certainly have cancer. (In my case, it's vestibular cancer.) Finally, after listening to my panic, she patiently gets up with her ear-looker (what's that thing called?) and takes a look. My right ear is totally clogged with wax again. The other one has a massive infection on the ear drum that wasn't showing a few days ago. Undoubtedly the fluid was already behind the ear drum, and that's why it sounded like I still had wax in front of the ear drum. What none of us understands is why I haven't felt any pain, but no matter, antibiotics are prescribed, prescription is filled (after a bit of shopping around to find out who takes my insurance because I evidently I haven't filled a prescription in awhile, or maybe I just never noticed how much they cost), and the course is begun.

Oh, and the right ear gets another lavage, and this was the best part of the appointment, because I did get that beautiful aural sunrise I love so much. It's almost worth letting the wax build up now and then just for that beautiful feeling of hearing again. The world was so loud, and sounds that usually bother me (most notably traffic) were gloriously and beautifully and overwhelmingly loud.