I took my son to a birthday party at a bowling alley. The kids were doing their bad bowling with the bumpers up, and I threw a couple balls myself. We were just waiting for the party to get started. Kirk was having fun bowling and just being a kid. I talked briefly to a couple of the other parents, but I had my eye on the bar. It didn’t seem to be open yet, but I was wondering how soon I could get myself one of those Millers Lites.
I was considering leaving for a while. I could sneak out and do some shopping or something and come back after all the cake was eaten. But it was a Saturday afternoon, and I was a bit hungover, and in no hurry to do much of anything. There was a college football game on one of the TVs and I had just started to get into that. The Gophers were playing a team with an N. That was as much as I knew. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know the other team, they were the enemy, and they were winning. So there I was, a dad at a birthday party, in a bowling alley, watching college football and cringing every time the N team made another first down, when suddenly my little boy came running up to me crying.
As a parent this happens all the time. Kids come running up crying. Usually it amounts to nothing. Sometimes it takes a boo boo kiss, or just a little holding. He was pointing at his butt and I figured he had fallen after throwing the bowling ball badly. I was at a low level of concern, because this seemed like a quick fix, until he turned around and showed me the real problem.
There was a 5-inch piece of wood, a splinter hanging from his bottom. It was poking into his pants. I didn’t know what to think. I simply pulled on it and it came out in my hands. I looked at it, and I realized things might be bad. I figured he had scooted on the floor and a piece of wood had splintered and stabbed his bottom, but I couldn’t se how badly it had poked him. I was sure it had broken the skin a little, but I needed to check it out more. I rushed him to the men’s room, stood him on the sink, and pulled his pants down. I saw underneath the stall that a dude was pooping in there. Kirk was screaming. I was trying to calm him while I pulled down his underwear and looked at his butt. I saw immediately that there was about 4 inches of splintered wood buried deep into the flesh of his buttock.
The pooper flushed and walked past us. Kirk was screaming as I tried to get a hold of the splinter, thinking I could pull it out. The decision came upon me suddenly. It was time to go to the hospital. Quickly.
I grabbed him in my arms and rushed back to the party. People there were in shock as I said, “We’re going to the hospital, now!”
I had to take off my bowling shoes and put my street shoes back on. I yanked Kirks bowling shoes off and grabbed his coat and shoes and went straight to the car. I wondered where to put him. With a big stick in his butt it seemed cruel to make him sit in his car seat, but I could see no other way. I strapped him in and we were off.
The hospital was close thankfully. I knew where it was. He had been born there. Kirk was crying and he said, “This was supposed to be fun.”
“I know buddy, I’m sorry.” I told him. And I was trying to make him feel at ease by telling him the doctors would have the right tools and medicines to get the splinter out and take away the pain. I was trying to calm him with reason, as I was completely freaked out. I blew through some stop signs, I sped and disregarded the law in the safest way I could to get him there as quickly as possible.
“I can’t take this.” He screamed over and over. I found out later that he was using his arms and legs to keep his butt off the seat. He was becoming exhausted from the effort.
I parked and carried him in. He was still in his stocking feet. I admitted him and thankfully we were put in a room fairly quickly. I had forgotten my phone that morning, because I had left it to charge, so I used the hospital phones to try to get a hold of his mother who was napping with our daughter.
The events of the day were crazy, fast, and surreal, and so much happened that would have been awesome to document with pictures and video, or even sharing on social media, but there I was without my phone, as if I were stranded in the 20th century with no way to document the experience. I felt naked. And alone.
Soon he was on his tummy with a topical pain-killer on the wound watching cartoons as the doctors figured out a way to got the thing out. The official procedure was called “removal of a foreign body.” There was a giant stick in his butt. It needed removing.
I finally got a hold of his mother, and she was at home, helpless, and in a panic as well. His two year old sister upon hearing that he had an owie in his butt said he needed butt medicine. This made us all laugh. Even Kirk.
The doctor wasn’t sure it would be easy to get out just by pulling it. She was afraid they would have to make incisions, so it was decided to put him under full sedation, so they could get the job done right. This was in essence, surgery.
So they had to prep him and put in a IV for the anesthesia. I had to lay on the bed with him and spoon him to keep him calm as they did this. I have to say the one good thing for me in all of this were the snuggles. I got a lot of good hugs from my boy during all of the trauma.
He loved the part where they drove his bed from the first ER room to the surgery room. It was a bit of fun that I was happy to help him get excited about. How often do you get to drive your bed? He loved it, and was having fun.
Once in the surgical room it became very real, and chaotic. There was the doctor and the nurse, and the triage nurse, the anesthesiologist, and his nurse, and a student observer. I had to sign scores of release forms. Once he was out, they made me go to a waiting room where I called his mother. I was worried. It was a simple thing, but it seemed very serious.
Thankfully it was done in minutes. There were no problems. It came out in two pieces fairly easy. No stitches necessary. I smiled at him but he was fully drugged and groggy. He barely could tell it was me. I said to him, “buddy, it’s all over. You did great. They don’t need to put you in a Darth Vader suit after all.”
Then we had to wait for a while until all the drugs worked their way through. He started to panic and cry. He was disorientated. He begged to go home. So I held him. It was difficult to hold him because I didn’t want to mess with the new bandages, and he was hooked to several different machines. He was in a hospital gown with 5 cords attached to his chest, an arm cuff, and one of those finger things that measures oxygen.
As I held him he got nauseous and threw up. They gave him more drugs in his IV for that and then we waited. After a while they tried to see if he could stand and walk, but he stumbled into things like his daddy after a night of bourbon. So we waited longer.
As he gained lucidity he grew inpatient with all of the chords attached to him. I explained what they were all for as best I could and showed him what they were showing on the monitors. He asked what the blue one on the monitor meant. I told him I thought it was to measure his breathing. The reading was 100. He then started to breath faster. We could see the line moving a little but it still read 100. He asked me if the number would ever change. So I told him to hold his breath. He did, and the number dropped to 99, then 98. Then I freaked out and told him to breathe normally. It went back to 100. We both laughed at our little game, but I felt bad that I was screwing around with his biometrics so soon after he just had anesthesia.
Then the doctor came in with a whole bunch of cheap plastic toys from China. He loved them. I have to mention here that while we were in the first triage room, when I took off his pants, I found a lego man in his pocket. It was Will Turner from Pirates of the Caribbean, which he had brought with him to the party. I gave it to him and he held it through the entire procedure. It was his totem object.
Finally we were able to unhook him and put his clothes back on. It was dark out and it had snowed a lot by the time we got outside. It was our first snow of the season. I had to carry him, since he still had no shoes. We stopped at White Castle at his request on the way home so he could enjoy some “deliciously awesome chicken rings.”
Suddenly he was back to his old self. His mom hugged the crap out of him when we finally showed up, and his sister didn’t pay any attention at all. It was normal. It was strange to have it all be so suddenly normal after such a weird day.
When Kirk is asked why he was scooting his butt on the floor at the bowling alley he says, “I was just being a kid.” This is true. Whew. I am tired. What a day.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Boom Box
I miss the boom box. It was never the same after the advent and proliferation of CD’s. Boom boxes worked best with FM radio and cassettes. Cassettes were the shit really. A completely useful technology. Cassettes never skipped while you worked out, walked, or held them. Ipods didn’t replace CD’s. We still use CD’s sometimes to put our music onto our ipods. Ipods replaced cassettes. Ipods became the ultimate mix tape. And actually a little soul was taken out with the advent of the playlist. Sometimes the two minute song you planned to be at the end of your mixtape was perfect even though it got cut off anyway. CD’s can’t brag at replacing cassettes though. CD’s have merely become vessels of memory. And not the most efficient ones either. Once terabytes of memory are transferred via a thumbdrive CD’s will go the way of the 8-track.
Boom boxes boomed. Ghetto blasters! To be worn on the shoulder as to get the music evenly distributed directly into your earhole. Countless decibels of noise pollution to be heard by every one within a city block. Some square marketing professional in a suit would hear it and listen obsequiously (must never make eye contact with people on the street) and he would head into a record store on his way home. He would enter the dark shop filled with rock posters, t-shirts, bottons, stickers, magazines, and depending on your location and current laws even pot paraphenilia. The square wouldn’t be frightened in this non suit wearing smoky environment. This would have been like in the early 80’s. He would have been to plenty of record stores before. He would most likely light a smoke and start browsing the racks. He would be searching mainly in vinyl. He might consider a cassette if the walkman was invented yet. But our square is looking for the song he heard on the street during his morning commute. He finds Funky Town easily enough on a point of sale end cap near the front of the store. “My kids are going to love this.” He muses. Then he remembers he couldn’t find that little dealy bob that goes on the turntable so you can play 45’s. He buys one of those too. He pays in cash. Cash he got from writing a check for over the amount at the liquor store the previous evening. Robot tellers weren’t in use in his time.
Nowadays we don’t go into record stores anymore. We would just download Funky Town. I’m downloading it now.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Agency Life-so far
This post is dedicated to one of my favorite art directors, Meagan Tosch. She alone (out of many) graduated with me, and she too has just begun her career. The following is an email I intended to write to her, but soon realized was too long. Enjoy!
Poop! Two days down. Your career has officially begun. I'm actually jealous because my job is still temporary. Though it has been amazing here, there are starting to be things about it that have reduced my level of extreme elation. Don't get me wrong, I am supremely fortunate to have landed this gig. I am getting a crash course in agency life, which include the perks, and the pitfalls.
I worked 21 hours this weekend editing video. Sure I spent some time playing Xbox, and I did drink a bunch of whiskey, but the fact of the matter is that I was away from my family all weekend. (Except for the two hours where they visited me. Kirk played lego Batman and Ronnie loved jumping into the giant bean bags) But I was mostly away. This is time I won't get paid for. Which is fine. A deadline is a deadline, and you do what you have to. That is true agency experience.
When we finally showed our work on Monday morning people seemed to like it. It was great. We at least met and possibly exceeded expectations. Still we were continually hassled to get it into a presentable form for the client. We did that. Then the client came back with suggestions. Ha! You know what's coming next. They want more of the boring bullshit that sucks and a little less of the awesome creative stuff that is well, awesome. But its not that bad, the fixes are pretty easy and shouldn't take too long, and at least they didn't piss all over our entire concept. Right?
Still the quick fixes are fine if we have time to work on them, but we keep getting new junk to do on other things, and people are wondering what is taking so long on some of the previous projects we had been working on. The CD laughed when I talked to him about it over a beer. He laughed because he loves the fact that we as interns are truly getting the feel of agency life because that was the goal all along.
I did voice over work today. I sat in a room with the other copywriters and read lines to be put on a flash animation presentation to the client's vendors. It was cool. But while I was in the edit room with them they started to bitch about things. Three weeks ago these were the two people I interviewed with. These are the two people who I was frightened of, and now I am just one of the boys who gets to be in on the gossip. I loved it. I loved it because it was real life experience the type you can't get in school.
This email is too long. It should be a blog post. Sorry. I just need a sounding board to get this stuff out. I absolutely love this job. It's amazing, but I'm starting to see how working in advertising is a job, and not just the fantasy I had while in school. I knew it would be like this, but I now know how it really feels. There are times when I have no work to do and I'm looking for an assignment so I don't seem like a lazy douche intern, and then the next second I will be inundated with work which will make me have to miss my bus and have no chance to have supper with my family. And it's way worse for the designer. Everyone wants to drop work on his lap so he can do flash animation, make a powerpoint look good, or just photoshop products in different colors. Production slave. At least he's useful. I don't know how to use most programs, so I feel like I don't have as much to offer.
Anyway. This career in my experience is totally fun, awesome, and worth all the time we put into getting here. But it is still a job. I would love to stay where I am because I don't have the energy to go looking for another gig, and I think this agency has a lot going for it. Looking for work sucks. Still I have to keep on top of my game. I have to keep networking and showing my portfolio anywhere I can.
I'm sure we will have lots and lots and lots of these experiences to share in the ensuing decades as we build our careers. Lets stay in touch. Who knows, maybe we will work together again sometime. Lets do it somewhere fun though. My family would love to spend time in England.
Love,
CHill
Poop! Two days down. Your career has officially begun. I'm actually jealous because my job is still temporary. Though it has been amazing here, there are starting to be things about it that have reduced my level of extreme elation. Don't get me wrong, I am supremely fortunate to have landed this gig. I am getting a crash course in agency life, which include the perks, and the pitfalls.
I worked 21 hours this weekend editing video. Sure I spent some time playing Xbox, and I did drink a bunch of whiskey, but the fact of the matter is that I was away from my family all weekend. (Except for the two hours where they visited me. Kirk played lego Batman and Ronnie loved jumping into the giant bean bags) But I was mostly away. This is time I won't get paid for. Which is fine. A deadline is a deadline, and you do what you have to. That is true agency experience.
When we finally showed our work on Monday morning people seemed to like it. It was great. We at least met and possibly exceeded expectations. Still we were continually hassled to get it into a presentable form for the client. We did that. Then the client came back with suggestions. Ha! You know what's coming next. They want more of the boring bullshit that sucks and a little less of the awesome creative stuff that is well, awesome. But its not that bad, the fixes are pretty easy and shouldn't take too long, and at least they didn't piss all over our entire concept. Right?
Still the quick fixes are fine if we have time to work on them, but we keep getting new junk to do on other things, and people are wondering what is taking so long on some of the previous projects we had been working on. The CD laughed when I talked to him about it over a beer. He laughed because he loves the fact that we as interns are truly getting the feel of agency life because that was the goal all along.
I did voice over work today. I sat in a room with the other copywriters and read lines to be put on a flash animation presentation to the client's vendors. It was cool. But while I was in the edit room with them they started to bitch about things. Three weeks ago these were the two people I interviewed with. These are the two people who I was frightened of, and now I am just one of the boys who gets to be in on the gossip. I loved it. I loved it because it was real life experience the type you can't get in school.
This email is too long. It should be a blog post. Sorry. I just need a sounding board to get this stuff out. I absolutely love this job. It's amazing, but I'm starting to see how working in advertising is a job, and not just the fantasy I had while in school. I knew it would be like this, but I now know how it really feels. There are times when I have no work to do and I'm looking for an assignment so I don't seem like a lazy douche intern, and then the next second I will be inundated with work which will make me have to miss my bus and have no chance to have supper with my family. And it's way worse for the designer. Everyone wants to drop work on his lap so he can do flash animation, make a powerpoint look good, or just photoshop products in different colors. Production slave. At least he's useful. I don't know how to use most programs, so I feel like I don't have as much to offer.
Anyway. This career in my experience is totally fun, awesome, and worth all the time we put into getting here. But it is still a job. I would love to stay where I am because I don't have the energy to go looking for another gig, and I think this agency has a lot going for it. Looking for work sucks. Still I have to keep on top of my game. I have to keep networking and showing my portfolio anywhere I can.
I'm sure we will have lots and lots and lots of these experiences to share in the ensuing decades as we build our careers. Lets stay in touch. Who knows, maybe we will work together again sometime. Lets do it somewhere fun though. My family would love to spend time in England.
Love,
CHill
Friday, February 11, 2011
Lazy Blogger/I got a job in advertising
I have been bad. When I quit my cube job to become a stay at home dad I was under the strange delusion that I would have so much more time to document my life in blog form. I soon discovered that being at home did not mean I would have lots of extra time to do my own thing. The primary role of the stay at home dad is...well, being a dad. Those kids demanded a lot of my time. It was fun. We had great times. Lots of visits to parks, and trips to gymnastics, bike rides to the bowling alley. We had a ball. Throughout it all I still had to go to school, and actually try to get my career off the ground. Time ticked away, and my blog suffered.
Now it has been more than a year since I began that phase of my life, and I am beginning a new one. School for me is over. My portfolio is ready to show. Kirk is in Kindergarten, and we have just put Ronnie back into daycare. This all has been part of the plan all along. As for my career, the intention was that at this point I would either get a job in advertising or go back to temping until I found a job in advertising.
The best part is that I got a job in advertising! And thank god for that. I was fretting about it. I was out showing my book to whoever would look at it, visiting various agencies, meeting with every contact I have ever come across in the past two years trying to drum up something. I was scared. Ronnie had a place in daycare waiting for her. I needed to get work somewhere in order to pay for it. As a family we had been going into the red every month for longer than I would like to admit, and the credit was running out. We were in a pinch. Something had to break. It broke. I felt like a man diving into a tank of sharks who instead of being ripped apart at impact suddenly found himself swimming with dolphins. Or maybe mermaids.
With almost perfect timing I was asked to come in to interview for an internship position at an agency I had applied to while still in school. I had my wife's parents look after the kids so I could go to the interview. I troubled myself over what to wear. I knew I shouldn't show up in a full suit, because ad peeps aren't like that anymore, but I wanted to show respect for the interview. I ended up wearing new jeans I bought for the occasion, a simple button up shirt, and my chuck taylors. I threw on a suit jacket as an offering of respect. I have heard horror stories of people showing up overdressed for ad gigs, and I didn't want to be the next.
Before arriving to the interview I was terrified. The shop I was going into does a lot of digital work, and my book is mostly traditional print media. I practiced the night before by familiarizing myself with all of their clients. I came up with questions they might ask and practiced answers I might give. I was also hoping they wouldn't think I was too old. Not because I think I am too old, or that I have ever heard of that being a problem in this business, but because I was scared, and realized that I might not be as enthusiastic about "revolutionizing the industry" as someone in their 20's might do. I went into the convenience store and bought a 5 hour energy drink before I went in. I figured the dose of vitamins would get me to 25 year old levels of enthusiasm at least.
When I got off the elevator and saw the agencies' sign all I said to myself was, "groovy." The space was at the top floor of a hundred year old building right in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. It was open, spacious, well lighted from every angle by large windows and skylights, and there were stylish benches near the windows for me to sit on while I waited. I very much dug it there. I had been to lots of agencies in Minneapolis, Chicago, and LA. I like ad agencies because they set out for a visual aesthetic. It's one of the reasons I want to be there and not in a regular corporate cube farm. When I was still working at Wells Fargo while going to school, I would sometimes have class in the teacher's agency, and I was always jealous first at how much more the actual space was designed for awesomeness than regular cube jobs, and second by the fact that there were always free sodas and beers in the fridge.
When I went into this interview I was thinking I had a small chance at maybe getting the gig, but once I actually sat down with the copywriters who were interviewing me, I suddenly felt like I was already the guy they wanted. It was amazing. When I think back on it, this was my first real interview that had a job on the other side of it. I have been to tons of informational interviews, or portfolio reviews, but this was the first real job interview in advertising I had ever had. I had my book ready to show, but it never came up. They had already seen my work and my resume, and they just wanted to get a bead on who I was, and if I could be someone to work with for three months. One of the copywriters had done driving jobs just like I had. He also played bass, just like me. He too wanted to write comics. The other copywriter was older, and had spent time as a stay at home dad. He too got into this business later in life and felt that writers need a strong background in life. Both of them found my experience in rock and roll to be an asset.
I was completely at ease for the entire interview. I almost felt like the job was mine. I got the tour of the agency and it was everything I always love about ad agencies. Kiss pinball, ping-pong, booze, nice furniture, places to work that are hip, fun, and functional. Everything about the place was great. The fact that I had no experience in digital didn't matter. They liked my portfolio as it was and assured me that new media solutions could be taught. I was on top of the world.
It must be noted that while I was touring the agency, I took time out to call my attorney. I called him because his office is across the street from where I was. He could see me from his office waving at him. He said, "You have to get this gig, so we can have lunches together." This was perfect. If I was in charge, I would have said, "Yes, I'll take this job."
It was all too good. I had to wait 2 days for an answer, and the amount of anxiety and second guessing that went on during that period could fill volumes. This was the perfect gig for me. It was perfect for my family. It was perfect in every way. It was only a three month paid internship, but it was a job in advertising. You need to remember that I was also trying to get jobs through the temp agencies. I had been to their offices recently, wearing a suit, tie, and uncomfortably nice shoes. I took tests. They were ready to put me back to work at Wells Fargo as a temp for the same amount of money that the internship provided. I waited and worried.
Then happiness burst into my world. It was like the birth of a new child. I got the job. I wanted to scream my elation from the rooftops. I wanted everyone to know. My mom, dad, and brother all got calls. I was so happy, yet I was a little worried about telling some of my school peers. I didn't want to come off douchey, but I still wanted them to know I had made it into an agency.
I managed to get a job in advertising. For three months at least. It is a great opportunity. It is up to me to make it pay off. I feel that my career is finally off the ground. I am ready to become Chris Hill-copywriter. My excitement and happiness at this point is a state I need to ride, like a surfer. I may crash, but I may also ride that wave to a future I haven't yet dreamed of.
Now for the hard part. Agency life?
Now it has been more than a year since I began that phase of my life, and I am beginning a new one. School for me is over. My portfolio is ready to show. Kirk is in Kindergarten, and we have just put Ronnie back into daycare. This all has been part of the plan all along. As for my career, the intention was that at this point I would either get a job in advertising or go back to temping until I found a job in advertising.
The best part is that I got a job in advertising! And thank god for that. I was fretting about it. I was out showing my book to whoever would look at it, visiting various agencies, meeting with every contact I have ever come across in the past two years trying to drum up something. I was scared. Ronnie had a place in daycare waiting for her. I needed to get work somewhere in order to pay for it. As a family we had been going into the red every month for longer than I would like to admit, and the credit was running out. We were in a pinch. Something had to break. It broke. I felt like a man diving into a tank of sharks who instead of being ripped apart at impact suddenly found himself swimming with dolphins. Or maybe mermaids.
With almost perfect timing I was asked to come in to interview for an internship position at an agency I had applied to while still in school. I had my wife's parents look after the kids so I could go to the interview. I troubled myself over what to wear. I knew I shouldn't show up in a full suit, because ad peeps aren't like that anymore, but I wanted to show respect for the interview. I ended up wearing new jeans I bought for the occasion, a simple button up shirt, and my chuck taylors. I threw on a suit jacket as an offering of respect. I have heard horror stories of people showing up overdressed for ad gigs, and I didn't want to be the next.
Before arriving to the interview I was terrified. The shop I was going into does a lot of digital work, and my book is mostly traditional print media. I practiced the night before by familiarizing myself with all of their clients. I came up with questions they might ask and practiced answers I might give. I was also hoping they wouldn't think I was too old. Not because I think I am too old, or that I have ever heard of that being a problem in this business, but because I was scared, and realized that I might not be as enthusiastic about "revolutionizing the industry" as someone in their 20's might do. I went into the convenience store and bought a 5 hour energy drink before I went in. I figured the dose of vitamins would get me to 25 year old levels of enthusiasm at least.
When I got off the elevator and saw the agencies' sign all I said to myself was, "groovy." The space was at the top floor of a hundred year old building right in the heart of downtown Minneapolis. It was open, spacious, well lighted from every angle by large windows and skylights, and there were stylish benches near the windows for me to sit on while I waited. I very much dug it there. I had been to lots of agencies in Minneapolis, Chicago, and LA. I like ad agencies because they set out for a visual aesthetic. It's one of the reasons I want to be there and not in a regular corporate cube farm. When I was still working at Wells Fargo while going to school, I would sometimes have class in the teacher's agency, and I was always jealous first at how much more the actual space was designed for awesomeness than regular cube jobs, and second by the fact that there were always free sodas and beers in the fridge.
When I went into this interview I was thinking I had a small chance at maybe getting the gig, but once I actually sat down with the copywriters who were interviewing me, I suddenly felt like I was already the guy they wanted. It was amazing. When I think back on it, this was my first real interview that had a job on the other side of it. I have been to tons of informational interviews, or portfolio reviews, but this was the first real job interview in advertising I had ever had. I had my book ready to show, but it never came up. They had already seen my work and my resume, and they just wanted to get a bead on who I was, and if I could be someone to work with for three months. One of the copywriters had done driving jobs just like I had. He also played bass, just like me. He too wanted to write comics. The other copywriter was older, and had spent time as a stay at home dad. He too got into this business later in life and felt that writers need a strong background in life. Both of them found my experience in rock and roll to be an asset.
I was completely at ease for the entire interview. I almost felt like the job was mine. I got the tour of the agency and it was everything I always love about ad agencies. Kiss pinball, ping-pong, booze, nice furniture, places to work that are hip, fun, and functional. Everything about the place was great. The fact that I had no experience in digital didn't matter. They liked my portfolio as it was and assured me that new media solutions could be taught. I was on top of the world.
It must be noted that while I was touring the agency, I took time out to call my attorney. I called him because his office is across the street from where I was. He could see me from his office waving at him. He said, "You have to get this gig, so we can have lunches together." This was perfect. If I was in charge, I would have said, "Yes, I'll take this job."
It was all too good. I had to wait 2 days for an answer, and the amount of anxiety and second guessing that went on during that period could fill volumes. This was the perfect gig for me. It was perfect for my family. It was perfect in every way. It was only a three month paid internship, but it was a job in advertising. You need to remember that I was also trying to get jobs through the temp agencies. I had been to their offices recently, wearing a suit, tie, and uncomfortably nice shoes. I took tests. They were ready to put me back to work at Wells Fargo as a temp for the same amount of money that the internship provided. I waited and worried.
Then happiness burst into my world. It was like the birth of a new child. I got the job. I wanted to scream my elation from the rooftops. I wanted everyone to know. My mom, dad, and brother all got calls. I was so happy, yet I was a little worried about telling some of my school peers. I didn't want to come off douchey, but I still wanted them to know I had made it into an agency.
I managed to get a job in advertising. For three months at least. It is a great opportunity. It is up to me to make it pay off. I feel that my career is finally off the ground. I am ready to become Chris Hill-copywriter. My excitement and happiness at this point is a state I need to ride, like a surfer. I may crash, but I may also ride that wave to a future I haven't yet dreamed of.
Now for the hard part. Agency life?
Friday, June 4, 2010
Hipster, poser,or lazy slob?
When you look at me you will see a 37 year old dad with messy hair, an unshaven face, worn out checkered Vans, and an argyle cardigan. The thing about my look is I never really tried to cultivate it, it just sort of happened. Don't get me wrong, I'm as vain as the next douche walking down the street. I have tried in the past, very unsuccessfully, to create a "look" for myself, but in the end I just got lazy and fell into what feels right for me. Which is cool I guess. The problem is that currently my look is considered to be contrived hipster. I don't mind being mistaken for a hipster, but I do mind being mistaken for a poser.
Lets break this down shall we? I have been snugly cardiganed for my entire adult life. I live in a cold climate. I like cardigans. It's as simple as that.
Next there is my messy hair. I tried forever in my life not to have messy hair. Then I got tired of it. Suddenly my failure to use a comb becomes the fashion forward look. (I said suddenly, but the messy hair thing has been going on for some time now. I'm old, remember?)
My stubble is not me trying to show my gritty side. My beard is merely the result of my baby face. For years I could not grow a decent beard if I tried. When I was younger, this bothered me a lot, gave my insecurity, made it hard to sneak into clubs underage, etc. But eventually, somewhere in my 30's my beard began to sprout. The thing is, I was used to shaving once a fortnight. That kind of habit is hard to break. I still shave as often as I have my entire adult life. Only now, I look like Don Johnson or something. (Kids, you can Wiki Don Johnson if you need to. I wore a jacket like his to class pictures in 9th grade. One of my only true regrets in life.)
Then there are the old checkered Vans. I have to admit, I bought my first Vans in 2001 so I could be like Spicoli. I used to see older kids wearing them in the 80's and I thought they were so cool. In 2001 it was hard to find them. I looked all over hell, and once I had them, they were suddenly everywhere. This happens to me a lot. I choose a fashion accessory, have a hard time finding it, and within the year it is in Target. I think I'm being followed by the big brother of fashion or something. I have worn the Vans since 2001. I wear them out and buy a fresh pair every 9 months or so. They get very worn looking, and people often remark how awesome it is that I still have vintage Vans from the 80's.
So my current look is poser hipster. Oh well, in 5 years trends will change and I'll still be doing what I do. Fashion trends tend to come and go and sometimes I look withit, gear, fab, and other times I look like a lame asshole. But the timing for my current hipster look is good. I am in school with people much younger than I and looking trendy helps me to blend in, until I start talking about breast pumps, poopy diapers, The Berenstain Bears, or the wonderful aspects of Goldfish crackers. Most people don't think I am as old as I am. I've always had the baby face too. It bothered me a lot back when I was 20, but now its a good thing.
There is one thing that always makes me look old. My pants are too wide. I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, wear skinny jeans. FUCK! Never. But someday the loose fit will come back too, and I'll be cool all over again. Of course by then all this grey hair will be a dead give-away. Oh well.
Lets break this down shall we? I have been snugly cardiganed for my entire adult life. I live in a cold climate. I like cardigans. It's as simple as that.
Next there is my messy hair. I tried forever in my life not to have messy hair. Then I got tired of it. Suddenly my failure to use a comb becomes the fashion forward look. (I said suddenly, but the messy hair thing has been going on for some time now. I'm old, remember?)
My stubble is not me trying to show my gritty side. My beard is merely the result of my baby face. For years I could not grow a decent beard if I tried. When I was younger, this bothered me a lot, gave my insecurity, made it hard to sneak into clubs underage, etc. But eventually, somewhere in my 30's my beard began to sprout. The thing is, I was used to shaving once a fortnight. That kind of habit is hard to break. I still shave as often as I have my entire adult life. Only now, I look like Don Johnson or something. (Kids, you can Wiki Don Johnson if you need to. I wore a jacket like his to class pictures in 9th grade. One of my only true regrets in life.)
Then there are the old checkered Vans. I have to admit, I bought my first Vans in 2001 so I could be like Spicoli. I used to see older kids wearing them in the 80's and I thought they were so cool. In 2001 it was hard to find them. I looked all over hell, and once I had them, they were suddenly everywhere. This happens to me a lot. I choose a fashion accessory, have a hard time finding it, and within the year it is in Target. I think I'm being followed by the big brother of fashion or something. I have worn the Vans since 2001. I wear them out and buy a fresh pair every 9 months or so. They get very worn looking, and people often remark how awesome it is that I still have vintage Vans from the 80's.
So my current look is poser hipster. Oh well, in 5 years trends will change and I'll still be doing what I do. Fashion trends tend to come and go and sometimes I look withit, gear, fab, and other times I look like a lame asshole. But the timing for my current hipster look is good. I am in school with people much younger than I and looking trendy helps me to blend in, until I start talking about breast pumps, poopy diapers, The Berenstain Bears, or the wonderful aspects of Goldfish crackers. Most people don't think I am as old as I am. I've always had the baby face too. It bothered me a lot back when I was 20, but now its a good thing.
There is one thing that always makes me look old. My pants are too wide. I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, wear skinny jeans. FUCK! Never. But someday the loose fit will come back too, and I'll be cool all over again. Of course by then all this grey hair will be a dead give-away. Oh well.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Portfolio Night 2010. One man’s story of the LA contingent.
There were terrible hours the day before departure. One word was incorrect in a comp. As the copywriter I should have noticed it much earlier, and in fact I had, yet I found it to be too silly to go unnoticed by any art director worth their salt. Still, the mistake was purely mine. It came from my original document. Always proof read! Always!
I had the mistake corrected by one of my own contingent. Then I was off to the printer in a feverish frenzy to get my book together before I had to deal with the vicissitudes of life that an Ad Dad has to endure.
On the morning of Portfolio Night I awoke as usual and dressed my kids. I fed them breakfast and even spent some time in blissful cuddling. Then I drove my son to his pre-kindergarten class. He has gone every Thursday since the beginning of the year, but today was his last class. I would have to be back in an hour and a half for his “graduation” ceremony. I took the time in between to go to the bank, and to buy new headphones to enjoy music on my flight to Los Angeles. I wanted to buy new checkered Vans for the occasion since mine were badly worn, but I didn’t have the time. I buy new Vans every year, but I figured I could rely on the idea that my old pair were “vintage” and get a pass on that.
I picked up my wife and we headed to the graduation. My son decided to not cooperate during the ceremony. In fact he had his hands stuffed deeply in his pants the entire time. I decided to not be unduly embarrassed. At the end of it we all went to a small concert given by a children’s performer. Then we raced home so I could make my final preparations for my flight to LA.
The flight went well. I saw many mountains and other interesting geological features from above. When we landed I turned on my phone and found out from a message that I had left my sons diploma at the school. I felt like a complete ass.
I left the airport with my bag strapped to my shoulder. I never check luggage. I walked outside and asked the first person I saw with and official badge which way Sepulveda Boulevard was. I should have printed a map. Or I should have taken a cab, but I thought I could get to the ad agency by walking. It was close. Real close. But my mistake was applying logic. I assumed Supulveda North would be north of Sepulveda regular. A fifteen minute walk and much questioning left me with a different answer. So then I backtracked and found myself growing increasingly late for the event which brought me to LA in the first place. I walked back to where I had been and then even farther. Suddenly I was confronted with a tunnel. A traffic tunnel. A car tunnel. An evil tunnel. I looked for a way around the tunnel but I was fenced in. I was late enough already and with growing anxiety I decided I couldn’t back track another mile. I KNEW my destination was at the end of that tunnel so I decided to go through even though there were clearly marked signs telling me not to.
I walked through that long tunnel with cars and trucks whizzing by. It was not fun. Halfway through it was made worse by the realization that my right arm was covered in a thick black soot. I trudged on. I prayed I would not be stopped by cops, or worse, flattened by an errant vehicle. If I was stopped by authorities I was prepared to play the “aw shucks” yokel card, and get a ride to my destination anyway. Eventually I made it out, and there was the building I needed. I walked inside and I could see people milling about the guard desk. I was too embarrassed in my black arm sooty stage to go forward, so I went toward a restroom. It was locked. Damn! I then proceeded to try to wash off my blackened arm in the drinking fountain. I made an insane mess on the floor. But thankfully I was not seen. I called my friend and was able to take my bags to his car. Then I checked in to the event and was finally able to clean myself of sufficiently in a bathroom. From there on the event went quite well.
The host agency was David and Goliath. They did the KIA ads with the hamsters. I have actually made fun of those ads before, still it was fun to poke around the place and see areas where the creatives do their work. I saw marker comps on the walls, and those primitive drawings reminded me of some of the work I have seen in ad school. It gave me hope for my future. It shows you can take pretty simple ideas and eventually have them produced into effective advertising.
The creative directors who looked at my portfolio had good things to say, and they had lots of constructive criticism. It was worth the trip for that alone. I also met with many young creatives (most way younger than I) like myself and shared stories. It’s fun to look at the work other people are producing, and it gives one an idea about the competition.
The event was well catered. I ate tons of little pork tacos, and drank more than my share of the open bar. Toward the end of the night I met the woman who ran the catering. She is a British ex-pat about my own age with whom I discussed the awesomeness that is Doctor Who.
That night I left with the other two students from Minneapolis. We drove in the rental car provided by my art directors mother toward the hotel room paid for by his grandfather. It’s good to have connections kids. I heartily thank his family for all they did for us during our stay.
The next morning we awoke early so we could tour some ad agencies and to hopefully have another chance to show our books. One thing I was worried about on coming to LA, was that it was going to be hot. I never know how to present myself in the warmer climes. I’m suited to the chill of the Midwest. My style is largely based around the fact that I will be wearing a cardigan. But to my surprise it was a chilly weekend in LA. I was overjoyed at the sudden realization of cardigan weather. It’s like the gods themselves wanted to make my stay comfortable. I should also mention that while I was there I never saw any poor people. Not really. Maybe some of the busboys were poor, I couldn’t tell because they were in uniform. The host agency was upscale. The hotel we stayed in was a mile from the beach in Santa Monica. The other agencies we visited were in good neighbourhoods. My art directors family lived in the Pacific Palisades. Actually to get from our hotel to their house we had to travel through Brentwood. Brentwood for those of you old enough to remember the 90’s, was the place where that football star murdered those people a while back. Later my trip included dining in the Hollywood Hills and being dropped off in Beverly Hills. You may hear on the news that California is bankrupt, but I never saw any indication of anything other than luxury.
Back to the story. The first agency we visited was Saatchi & Saatchi. In LA their main client is Toyota. One of the art directors I was travelling with had an actual job interview there, and we joined in on the tour of the agency. It was a fun place to visit. Part of the tour took us into a video editing room where I made fast friends with one of the employees over his toys. We talked Star Wars in genuine Nerdese until I was forced to continue the tour. Later we found a bunch of creatives in an alcove watching the original Clash of the Titans. They claimed they were doing “research” and I bet they really were. I thought to myself that this is defiantly the line of work for me. Don’t get me wrong, everybody we met also talked of long hours and the pressure to produce amazing work. Still I felt a kinship with those folks.
The next stop was Chiat Day. This agency was truly amazing. It was huge. They had a basketball court in the middle of the place. This is where the iconic 1984 Apple Ad that aired during the Superbowl was created. There were dogs everywhere. We were then taken to a meeting alcove and given the opportunity to show our books to a resident art director and a copywriter. It was kind of scary but still quite worthwhile. I recently saw a movie called Art and Copy. There were many scenes filmed right there in the same place where I showed my book. It’s the kind of place I would give up my cardigan wearing habits to work at.
Afterwards we went to the Pacific Palisades and visited my friend’s family. His grandparents took us out to eat. Then his uncle and cousin took us to a cool bar near the ocean. It was a great end to a productive day.
The next day I met an old friend of mine. She had moved to LA a couple of years ago to be a screenwriter, and then she won an Oscar. It was great to see her. She is preggers, so we got to talk about kids. We also talked about the latest Star Trek, writing, and the possibilities of my band playing in LA. It was great to see her. She took me to lunch at her club. She was afraid they wouldn’t let her in because she was not in fancy clothes, but rather comfortable pregnant clothes. I looked down at myself and noted my crusty old checkered Vans, my camouflage pants, my Han Solo t-shirt, and my well worn green argyle cardigan. I was worried I didn’t look right either and she laughed and said everyone would probably think I was a producer. I’m not sure where she took me, but it was a rooftop café snuggled within the Hollywood Hills. I would have been happy going to In and Out Burger, but this place was really amazing. The waiter treated me like royalty and I ordered every cocktail recommended. I was far away from my responsibilities so I was very elated to enjoy the moment to the fullest. Then she drove me to Beverly Hills where I was to meet up with the rest of my party. She felt guilty dropping me off half drunk in the middle of LA, but I assured her that Beverly Hills was probably the safest place to drop a half drunk person off. But I made her drop me off near a bar.
At the bar I learned my friends were trapped downtown on a shopping excursion. I drank a beer and decided that I didn’t care to play tourist in Beverly Hills. I asked the bartender how to get to Santa Monica, and she told me there was a bus just outside the bar that would get me there. Then she gave me the exact change for the fare. So within an hour of being in an exclusive club in the Hills with an academy award winner, I found myself on a bus heading towards the Santa Monica pier. The culture shock was palpable. The people on the bus were regular folks, workers, families, tourists on a shoestring, etc. Every ad on the bus seemed to be in Spanish too, which was okay since I can read Spanish. I arrived at Ocean Boulevard and got off the bus. I walked by street performers and headed to the water. The one downside to cardigan weather is that it really isn’t beach weather. I rolled up my pants and waded in the Pacific Ocean. It’s like a ritual pilgrimage of mine. Whenever I am close to an ocean I have to pay tribute. One time I paid that tribute to the Atlantic in Coney Island in November. That was a cold ocean.
That night our group went back to the pier and rode the Ferris Wheel. Then we headed back to the hotel and slept. The next morning we went to my friends grandparents house. His mother made us breakfast and we squeezed fresh orange juice from which we picked oranges off a tree in their backyard. After breakfast we shopped along Venice Beach. I bought a hat for my son that looks like and Indiana Jones hat. Then we were dropped off at the airport. When I arrived in Minneapolis it was hot. Cardigan weather was over and I took a 55 dollar cab ride home.
Being home was the best part of the trip. Travelling is wonderful, but holding my family is even better. I have never been much of an LA guy. It really hasn’t been a place I wanted to visit too badly, but I really had a great time there, and I want to return. Maybe someday I will work there and then I can feel the ocean breeze under the shade of a palm and have my family with me too. One can only dream. Though I would still miss the winter.
I had the mistake corrected by one of my own contingent. Then I was off to the printer in a feverish frenzy to get my book together before I had to deal with the vicissitudes of life that an Ad Dad has to endure.
On the morning of Portfolio Night I awoke as usual and dressed my kids. I fed them breakfast and even spent some time in blissful cuddling. Then I drove my son to his pre-kindergarten class. He has gone every Thursday since the beginning of the year, but today was his last class. I would have to be back in an hour and a half for his “graduation” ceremony. I took the time in between to go to the bank, and to buy new headphones to enjoy music on my flight to Los Angeles. I wanted to buy new checkered Vans for the occasion since mine were badly worn, but I didn’t have the time. I buy new Vans every year, but I figured I could rely on the idea that my old pair were “vintage” and get a pass on that.
I picked up my wife and we headed to the graduation. My son decided to not cooperate during the ceremony. In fact he had his hands stuffed deeply in his pants the entire time. I decided to not be unduly embarrassed. At the end of it we all went to a small concert given by a children’s performer. Then we raced home so I could make my final preparations for my flight to LA.
The flight went well. I saw many mountains and other interesting geological features from above. When we landed I turned on my phone and found out from a message that I had left my sons diploma at the school. I felt like a complete ass.
I left the airport with my bag strapped to my shoulder. I never check luggage. I walked outside and asked the first person I saw with and official badge which way Sepulveda Boulevard was. I should have printed a map. Or I should have taken a cab, but I thought I could get to the ad agency by walking. It was close. Real close. But my mistake was applying logic. I assumed Supulveda North would be north of Sepulveda regular. A fifteen minute walk and much questioning left me with a different answer. So then I backtracked and found myself growing increasingly late for the event which brought me to LA in the first place. I walked back to where I had been and then even farther. Suddenly I was confronted with a tunnel. A traffic tunnel. A car tunnel. An evil tunnel. I looked for a way around the tunnel but I was fenced in. I was late enough already and with growing anxiety I decided I couldn’t back track another mile. I KNEW my destination was at the end of that tunnel so I decided to go through even though there were clearly marked signs telling me not to.
I walked through that long tunnel with cars and trucks whizzing by. It was not fun. Halfway through it was made worse by the realization that my right arm was covered in a thick black soot. I trudged on. I prayed I would not be stopped by cops, or worse, flattened by an errant vehicle. If I was stopped by authorities I was prepared to play the “aw shucks” yokel card, and get a ride to my destination anyway. Eventually I made it out, and there was the building I needed. I walked inside and I could see people milling about the guard desk. I was too embarrassed in my black arm sooty stage to go forward, so I went toward a restroom. It was locked. Damn! I then proceeded to try to wash off my blackened arm in the drinking fountain. I made an insane mess on the floor. But thankfully I was not seen. I called my friend and was able to take my bags to his car. Then I checked in to the event and was finally able to clean myself of sufficiently in a bathroom. From there on the event went quite well.
The host agency was David and Goliath. They did the KIA ads with the hamsters. I have actually made fun of those ads before, still it was fun to poke around the place and see areas where the creatives do their work. I saw marker comps on the walls, and those primitive drawings reminded me of some of the work I have seen in ad school. It gave me hope for my future. It shows you can take pretty simple ideas and eventually have them produced into effective advertising.
The creative directors who looked at my portfolio had good things to say, and they had lots of constructive criticism. It was worth the trip for that alone. I also met with many young creatives (most way younger than I) like myself and shared stories. It’s fun to look at the work other people are producing, and it gives one an idea about the competition.
The event was well catered. I ate tons of little pork tacos, and drank more than my share of the open bar. Toward the end of the night I met the woman who ran the catering. She is a British ex-pat about my own age with whom I discussed the awesomeness that is Doctor Who.
That night I left with the other two students from Minneapolis. We drove in the rental car provided by my art directors mother toward the hotel room paid for by his grandfather. It’s good to have connections kids. I heartily thank his family for all they did for us during our stay.
The next morning we awoke early so we could tour some ad agencies and to hopefully have another chance to show our books. One thing I was worried about on coming to LA, was that it was going to be hot. I never know how to present myself in the warmer climes. I’m suited to the chill of the Midwest. My style is largely based around the fact that I will be wearing a cardigan. But to my surprise it was a chilly weekend in LA. I was overjoyed at the sudden realization of cardigan weather. It’s like the gods themselves wanted to make my stay comfortable. I should also mention that while I was there I never saw any poor people. Not really. Maybe some of the busboys were poor, I couldn’t tell because they were in uniform. The host agency was upscale. The hotel we stayed in was a mile from the beach in Santa Monica. The other agencies we visited were in good neighbourhoods. My art directors family lived in the Pacific Palisades. Actually to get from our hotel to their house we had to travel through Brentwood. Brentwood for those of you old enough to remember the 90’s, was the place where that football star murdered those people a while back. Later my trip included dining in the Hollywood Hills and being dropped off in Beverly Hills. You may hear on the news that California is bankrupt, but I never saw any indication of anything other than luxury.
Back to the story. The first agency we visited was Saatchi & Saatchi. In LA their main client is Toyota. One of the art directors I was travelling with had an actual job interview there, and we joined in on the tour of the agency. It was a fun place to visit. Part of the tour took us into a video editing room where I made fast friends with one of the employees over his toys. We talked Star Wars in genuine Nerdese until I was forced to continue the tour. Later we found a bunch of creatives in an alcove watching the original Clash of the Titans. They claimed they were doing “research” and I bet they really were. I thought to myself that this is defiantly the line of work for me. Don’t get me wrong, everybody we met also talked of long hours and the pressure to produce amazing work. Still I felt a kinship with those folks.
The next stop was Chiat Day. This agency was truly amazing. It was huge. They had a basketball court in the middle of the place. This is where the iconic 1984 Apple Ad that aired during the Superbowl was created. There were dogs everywhere. We were then taken to a meeting alcove and given the opportunity to show our books to a resident art director and a copywriter. It was kind of scary but still quite worthwhile. I recently saw a movie called Art and Copy. There were many scenes filmed right there in the same place where I showed my book. It’s the kind of place I would give up my cardigan wearing habits to work at.
Afterwards we went to the Pacific Palisades and visited my friend’s family. His grandparents took us out to eat. Then his uncle and cousin took us to a cool bar near the ocean. It was a great end to a productive day.
The next day I met an old friend of mine. She had moved to LA a couple of years ago to be a screenwriter, and then she won an Oscar. It was great to see her. She is preggers, so we got to talk about kids. We also talked about the latest Star Trek, writing, and the possibilities of my band playing in LA. It was great to see her. She took me to lunch at her club. She was afraid they wouldn’t let her in because she was not in fancy clothes, but rather comfortable pregnant clothes. I looked down at myself and noted my crusty old checkered Vans, my camouflage pants, my Han Solo t-shirt, and my well worn green argyle cardigan. I was worried I didn’t look right either and she laughed and said everyone would probably think I was a producer. I’m not sure where she took me, but it was a rooftop café snuggled within the Hollywood Hills. I would have been happy going to In and Out Burger, but this place was really amazing. The waiter treated me like royalty and I ordered every cocktail recommended. I was far away from my responsibilities so I was very elated to enjoy the moment to the fullest. Then she drove me to Beverly Hills where I was to meet up with the rest of my party. She felt guilty dropping me off half drunk in the middle of LA, but I assured her that Beverly Hills was probably the safest place to drop a half drunk person off. But I made her drop me off near a bar.
At the bar I learned my friends were trapped downtown on a shopping excursion. I drank a beer and decided that I didn’t care to play tourist in Beverly Hills. I asked the bartender how to get to Santa Monica, and she told me there was a bus just outside the bar that would get me there. Then she gave me the exact change for the fare. So within an hour of being in an exclusive club in the Hills with an academy award winner, I found myself on a bus heading towards the Santa Monica pier. The culture shock was palpable. The people on the bus were regular folks, workers, families, tourists on a shoestring, etc. Every ad on the bus seemed to be in Spanish too, which was okay since I can read Spanish. I arrived at Ocean Boulevard and got off the bus. I walked by street performers and headed to the water. The one downside to cardigan weather is that it really isn’t beach weather. I rolled up my pants and waded in the Pacific Ocean. It’s like a ritual pilgrimage of mine. Whenever I am close to an ocean I have to pay tribute. One time I paid that tribute to the Atlantic in Coney Island in November. That was a cold ocean.
That night our group went back to the pier and rode the Ferris Wheel. Then we headed back to the hotel and slept. The next morning we went to my friends grandparents house. His mother made us breakfast and we squeezed fresh orange juice from which we picked oranges off a tree in their backyard. After breakfast we shopped along Venice Beach. I bought a hat for my son that looks like and Indiana Jones hat. Then we were dropped off at the airport. When I arrived in Minneapolis it was hot. Cardigan weather was over and I took a 55 dollar cab ride home.
Being home was the best part of the trip. Travelling is wonderful, but holding my family is even better. I have never been much of an LA guy. It really hasn’t been a place I wanted to visit too badly, but I really had a great time there, and I want to return. Maybe someday I will work there and then I can feel the ocean breeze under the shade of a palm and have my family with me too. One can only dream. Though I would still miss the winter.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Lights, camera, action!
When we were kids, or at least when I was a kid, the family camera was a sacred thing. You were not allowed to touch it. The camera was my moms domain and she kept it on a very high shelf. The idea of even taking 1 simple picture was a laughable offense. "Film costs too much," my mother would say. And that was that. It was made very clear to me at an early age that the camera was not a toy.
When I was ten I decided to buy my own camera. This was considered a weird undertaking for a kid back in 1982. But I just wanted to have the chance to take all the fun and silly pictures I had always dreamed of. I thought my pictures would tell stories and be worthy of praise to the highest degree. I imagined that I would be making movies in still life. I could recreate Star Wars with kodak film and some action figures.
My first roadblock was my parents. They thought I didn't need to spend my paper route money on a frivolous purchase. Why couldn't I save my money like my brother? My brother never spent any money as a kid. If he wanted Van Halen's 1984 he would simply convince me to buy it, then he would reap all the benefits. (there is a lesson there. Hmmm?) Anyway I convinced my parents that $39.99 was a good deal for a camera. It was a disc camera. In the early 80's it was the cool new thing because it was cheap and you didn't need to load the film. Just snap the disc in place and you were ready to go. Wow! Fucking technology!
I proceeded to take all sorts of silly photos. I still have many of them in a special album I made. Before and after shots of me with a BB gun and then me with a bloody ketchup stained forehead. My pictures were never as much fun as I imagined, mainly because I would take them and then I would have to wait to develop them, which cost money. Then of course more film cost more money. I quickly was distracted toward other things. What I really wanted was a polaroid. Instant pictures! If only I could afford it. Sigh.
Years later, in my 20's, I bought a Polaroid and took tons of fun pictures. I took them with the same enthusiasm I had when I was ten, but I could see my great pieces of art instantly. It was amazing! At this point in history disposable cameras were all the rage, so if my wife and I went on vacation we just bought a couple cameras, used them up, and had them developed.
So here we are. In the future. the magical year 2000 is in the past. Now we have digital cameras. You can take as many pictures as you like, and you can see them instantly. It blows my 10 year old mind. So when my 4 year old son asks me if he can take a picture, I hand the camera to him and say, "go nuts." Kirk took a bunch of pictures. Most of them were of his own fingers or the TV. We've come a long way baby.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Mr. Mom
I survived my first full week as a stay at home dad, and I've got to tell you--It's the most awesomest thing ever!! All I do everyday is hang out with my kids. I feed them and watch cartoons, and sometimes we cuddle. It's the greatest. The other day I wanted to take a bath, and my 9 month old daughter just stood at the edge of the tub the entire time smiling at me. I had to keep giving her toys to bang around and drop in my bath, but that's not REAL work. After so much time at work under pressure and under stress and paying the high cost of daycare, I couldn't believe how happy such a simple joy could make me. I would rather be here doing this than anything else right now.
However as an ad student I am still working toward my eventual career. I did find that I don't really have much time to write with these kids bandying about, but I find that I don't care. I can write when their mother gets home. I am as a whole so much better suited to do this than anything I have ever done, however temporary it may be.
This week we brought Christmas into our home. Kirk and I had plenty of fun just setting up and decorating our tree. Then I built him a toy boat out of a tin can, a cork, a pencil, and a twig we found outside. He loves it.
The greatest thing was when I learned I could join the YMCA and get up to two hours of free daycare while I work out. This is good for daddy, and the kids get to socialize with other children. They love Mr. Mom at the Y, and I can have some time to myself to think about advertising ideas while I exercise and relax in a hot tub. The Y is cheap and I get a discount through our health insurance, which is paid for by breadwinner mama Belsum's salary.
I am looking for other daily activities for the kids, and plan to set up playdates with some parents I know. I am also working with Kirk to get him ready for kindergarten by teaching him to read and write, and to count to 100. Everytime he asks for a big boy thing, like being able to play with sharp knives, I tell him he can't until he can learns new things. It's working pretty good so far.
After a fun day of play and naps and learning I get supper ready for when mama comes home. Sometimes the kids help me cook. I take extra care to make sure the house is neat and tidy before she comes home, so when I leave for school she won't have to worry about those things. So far this has been the best job I have ever had, and with the daycare savings, it is far from the lowest paid job I've had.
My next step is to start organizing this house I live in. I have time, and I'm sure the kids will help in between being fed and snuggled. My mother was right, being a stay at home dad really is a full time job, but I never knew how much I would love it.
However as an ad student I am still working toward my eventual career. I did find that I don't really have much time to write with these kids bandying about, but I find that I don't care. I can write when their mother gets home. I am as a whole so much better suited to do this than anything I have ever done, however temporary it may be.
This week we brought Christmas into our home. Kirk and I had plenty of fun just setting up and decorating our tree. Then I built him a toy boat out of a tin can, a cork, a pencil, and a twig we found outside. He loves it.
The greatest thing was when I learned I could join the YMCA and get up to two hours of free daycare while I work out. This is good for daddy, and the kids get to socialize with other children. They love Mr. Mom at the Y, and I can have some time to myself to think about advertising ideas while I exercise and relax in a hot tub. The Y is cheap and I get a discount through our health insurance, which is paid for by breadwinner mama Belsum's salary.
I am looking for other daily activities for the kids, and plan to set up playdates with some parents I know. I am also working with Kirk to get him ready for kindergarten by teaching him to read and write, and to count to 100. Everytime he asks for a big boy thing, like being able to play with sharp knives, I tell him he can't until he can learns new things. It's working pretty good so far.
After a fun day of play and naps and learning I get supper ready for when mama comes home. Sometimes the kids help me cook. I take extra care to make sure the house is neat and tidy before she comes home, so when I leave for school she won't have to worry about those things. So far this has been the best job I have ever had, and with the daycare savings, it is far from the lowest paid job I've had.
My next step is to start organizing this house I live in. I have time, and I'm sure the kids will help in between being fed and snuggled. My mother was right, being a stay at home dad really is a full time job, but I never knew how much I would love it.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Cardigan
I know I am old dammit!. I'm reminded every day by consorting with people who can't remember a time before the internet and those who find it funny that I call CD's "records." It's RECORDED music you idiots. It's made worse when I tell my "first time I did something stories" and it was in the year my subject was born. But I am not old. Even the kids who make fun of me don't think of me as old. And I am not young either. I am in that nebulous in-between stage of life. It happens to everyone, but it is never glorified. No matter how old or how young I seem, I will never, ever, not be seen wearing a cardigan.
This bold statement of intent would have been better if I had stated it when I was 20, but when I was 20 there were no blogs to state it on. You'll just have to trust me. I am a cardigan guy. I wore them when they were hip, when they were not hip, and then when they were hip again. (Fuck, I really am old.) Still, I am a life-long cardigan wearer.
...And now I'm struggling to figure out what my intention for this post was.
Oh yeah! Just because I wear a cardigan everyday doesn't mean I'm all old and crusty. Sure in time I will be old and crusty, and be in a cardigan, but that doesn't mean I'm wearing the cardigan because I'm old, but rather because It's part of who I am. It's my brand.
This entire post could be summed up in one line.
Chris Hill digs cardigans.
This bold statement of intent would have been better if I had stated it when I was 20, but when I was 20 there were no blogs to state it on. You'll just have to trust me. I am a cardigan guy. I wore them when they were hip, when they were not hip, and then when they were hip again. (Fuck, I really am old.) Still, I am a life-long cardigan wearer.
...And now I'm struggling to figure out what my intention for this post was.
Oh yeah! Just because I wear a cardigan everyday doesn't mean I'm all old and crusty. Sure in time I will be old and crusty, and be in a cardigan, but that doesn't mean I'm wearing the cardigan because I'm old, but rather because It's part of who I am. It's my brand.
This entire post could be summed up in one line.
Chris Hill digs cardigans.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Establishment
My 8 month old daughter is quite a little menace. We put her to bed and she gets up repeatedly. Nothing seems to work. I fed her a bottle tonight and got her to fall asleep on my arm but as soon as I put her in the crib she was crying again. I decided to try a different tactic. I took her downstairs, where I keep my lazy boy. I let her crawl around the floor as I picked the perfect cassette. I should probably explain that I have a music nook in my basement where I can relax and listen to albums and tapes. It's where all my outdated but still awesome music collection resides. The tape I picked tonight was Establishment, the first band I was ever in. Good music from 1989.
I held my little girl and listened to the music her father made 20 years ago. It was a pretty low-fi affair, made on a 4-track recorder, but there is something about it that I still love. My most recent CD was released less than a month ago. It was recorded in a professional studio, yet I could still see the connection from where I was as an artist then, and where I am now. Basically I am, and have always been, a pretty pretentious and morose musician. Establishment had songs about sadness and suicide. There were definite influences from Joy Division and the Cure, and the drummer was a machine. Mercurial Rage is really the grown up version of Establishment in many ways.
In 1989 I spent about 2 months reading The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. It took that long to read because it is a big book, and well, It takes me awhile to read things. I still read pretty slow. I think I read it slowly because I was trying to impress the chick who lent it to me, and also because it was blowing my mind. The book left an impression on me. I can remember being in study hall quickly doing my analytic geometry homework so I could get back into the world of Howard Roark. I would imagine myself as a detached genius whose true soul comes out only in his creations. It was really a lot of bullshit, but it influenced the content of my music at the time. Establishment is not a good name for a rock band, but to me it spoke of the importance of creation, creativity, and the foundations of art as a necessary function of mankind. One of our songs was called Abysmal Altruist which was basically and homage to Rand's notion of individual freedom being a greater good than social equality. My biggest problem today is I still find myself more akin to Rand's thinking than I do with the prevailing logic prevalent in Obama's America. I often feel like an outsider in politics. I'm not a republican, but I certainly am not a democrat either.
I held my little girl and patted her back. I was happy, at peace, listening to me from 2 decades past, express myself through song. Of course there were other members of Establishment. Guitar god Paul Erickson, and singer Joe Allper from Seattle. I really can't rightly speak of them in this simple bloggity post. They each deserve their own. All I can say is, 20 years later, Establishment is still catchy as fuck pop music. I am proud to have been a part of it.
The little girl started to cry again, so I gave her to her mother. I think I need to go downstairs and finish listening to that wonderful Establishment record.
I held my little girl and listened to the music her father made 20 years ago. It was a pretty low-fi affair, made on a 4-track recorder, but there is something about it that I still love. My most recent CD was released less than a month ago. It was recorded in a professional studio, yet I could still see the connection from where I was as an artist then, and where I am now. Basically I am, and have always been, a pretty pretentious and morose musician. Establishment had songs about sadness and suicide. There were definite influences from Joy Division and the Cure, and the drummer was a machine. Mercurial Rage is really the grown up version of Establishment in many ways.
In 1989 I spent about 2 months reading The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. It took that long to read because it is a big book, and well, It takes me awhile to read things. I still read pretty slow. I think I read it slowly because I was trying to impress the chick who lent it to me, and also because it was blowing my mind. The book left an impression on me. I can remember being in study hall quickly doing my analytic geometry homework so I could get back into the world of Howard Roark. I would imagine myself as a detached genius whose true soul comes out only in his creations. It was really a lot of bullshit, but it influenced the content of my music at the time. Establishment is not a good name for a rock band, but to me it spoke of the importance of creation, creativity, and the foundations of art as a necessary function of mankind. One of our songs was called Abysmal Altruist which was basically and homage to Rand's notion of individual freedom being a greater good than social equality. My biggest problem today is I still find myself more akin to Rand's thinking than I do with the prevailing logic prevalent in Obama's America. I often feel like an outsider in politics. I'm not a republican, but I certainly am not a democrat either.
I held my little girl and patted her back. I was happy, at peace, listening to me from 2 decades past, express myself through song. Of course there were other members of Establishment. Guitar god Paul Erickson, and singer Joe Allper from Seattle. I really can't rightly speak of them in this simple bloggity post. They each deserve their own. All I can say is, 20 years later, Establishment is still catchy as fuck pop music. I am proud to have been a part of it.
The little girl started to cry again, so I gave her to her mother. I think I need to go downstairs and finish listening to that wonderful Establishment record.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Transformation
This is a transitional period for my life as well as for my blog. My last post was in April. Jeepers! I haven't written in so long. Far too long. A lot of things have happened since April. I will endeavor to make sense of things forthwith.
The previous title to my blog was "Cascade." I began blogging a year and a half ago during a period of intense creativity. Cascade was the title of the record I was endeavoring to bring into fruition with my band Mercurial Rage. The title Cascade was present throughout the writing and recording process of that record and it seemed a fitting title to my blog as well. During that time I also conceived and witnessed the birth of my daughter Ronnie, quit a job I had held for 7 years, and began attending a school for advertising. There have been many changes in my life, changes that need sorting out. I have spent the past year working on the new record, getting adjusted to my life as a student, and becoming a father for the second time. It has been a weird and wonderful ride, but not immune to the pitfalls of gloom and uncertainty. I have tried to keep a straight face but too much change at once scares me.
I haven't written much in the past year because I have been stretched to my limit with work, family, band, and school. Cascade is now released, and it is awesome. That chapter is completed. I made the record I wanted to make. I want to continue to make music, but for now it can be placed on the back burner of my life. The job I took after leaving the cafe has become too much of an obstruction in my life. The daycare costs, and the time it takes me away from my studies and my children have made it not worth the time or energy I spend there. We are poor now, and will only be the slightest amount poorer if I quit. So quit I did.
I have always wanted to be a stay at home dad. This is the perfect time for it, while my kids are not in school yet. I can spend my days with them and then be able to use my nights to focus on becoming the best copywriter possible. (As a copywriter I hate everything I have just written.) This is the time for my to hone my craft.
I have two focuses in life now. Family and school. Without my day job I should have sufficient time to give to both. I have changed the title of my blog to Ad Dad, because that is now the best representation of myself I can provide.
The previous title to my blog was "Cascade." I began blogging a year and a half ago during a period of intense creativity. Cascade was the title of the record I was endeavoring to bring into fruition with my band Mercurial Rage. The title Cascade was present throughout the writing and recording process of that record and it seemed a fitting title to my blog as well. During that time I also conceived and witnessed the birth of my daughter Ronnie, quit a job I had held for 7 years, and began attending a school for advertising. There have been many changes in my life, changes that need sorting out. I have spent the past year working on the new record, getting adjusted to my life as a student, and becoming a father for the second time. It has been a weird and wonderful ride, but not immune to the pitfalls of gloom and uncertainty. I have tried to keep a straight face but too much change at once scares me.
I haven't written much in the past year because I have been stretched to my limit with work, family, band, and school. Cascade is now released, and it is awesome. That chapter is completed. I made the record I wanted to make. I want to continue to make music, but for now it can be placed on the back burner of my life. The job I took after leaving the cafe has become too much of an obstruction in my life. The daycare costs, and the time it takes me away from my studies and my children have made it not worth the time or energy I spend there. We are poor now, and will only be the slightest amount poorer if I quit. So quit I did.
I have always wanted to be a stay at home dad. This is the perfect time for it, while my kids are not in school yet. I can spend my days with them and then be able to use my nights to focus on becoming the best copywriter possible. (As a copywriter I hate everything I have just written.) This is the time for my to hone my craft.
I have two focuses in life now. Family and school. Without my day job I should have sufficient time to give to both. I have changed the title of my blog to Ad Dad, because that is now the best representation of myself I can provide.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Important Day
Today is one of those days where everything lines up in a serendipitous manner making me want to believe in the Fates I often find so cruel in their cunning. Whew! Anyway, today is an important day for several reasons. First of all it is Robert Smith of the Cure's birthday. That is cause for celebration enough don't you think? Happy birthday Bob. Thank you for writing such plaintive music to help me muck my way through my adolescence. The second awesome factor about today is that the brand new Depeche Mode album is coming out. So go to your local record outlet (if one still exists) or go online and buy Songs Of The Universe. I haven't heard it, but I know it's good. It's fucking Depeche Mode. Of course it is good. And thirdly, today my band Mercurial Rage who have been monumentally inspired by both The Cure and Depeche Mode are putting out our new single. It is available as a FREE digital download by going here.
Okay that's enough glee for me in the morning. I still have countless hours of day job ahead of me. But seriously folks listen to your assignment and follow through.
1. Go into your library and pick out a favorite Cure record to listen to.
2. Buy the new Depeche Mode album.
3. Download Mercurial Rage's new sigle for FREE.
You won't regret it, and after listening to these three new wave gems you will be filled with as much glee as me!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
I love my daughter.
Ronnie is here! Yay! And she is adorable. Naturally. She is just a teeny little thing too. Super cute. We have taken to calling her "Bundle" because we are always wrapping her up in a little bundle. It's cute to hear Kirk referring to her as Bundle too. 
She is a really good baby too. Very agreeable. No fits of screaming yet. She likes to be held, and is awesome for cuddling. Everything you could ask for in a baby actually.
I took her on her first daddy date. We went out to meet my friend Patrick and his two month old son Henry. It was her first time away from her mother. I dressed her in a new outfit and put a bow in her hair. We met at Hooters. You tend to get a lot of attention if you bring your babies to Hooters. Patrick arrived before I did and was basking in the fawning over his two month old and then I go and bring in even a smaller baby. I kind of stole his thunder. Heh. It was fun for us guys to catch up and talk about fatherhood while our babies slept.
She is a really good baby too. Very agreeable. No fits of screaming yet. She likes to be held, and is awesome for cuddling. Everything you could ask for in a baby actually.
I took her on her first daddy date. We went out to meet my friend Patrick and his two month old son Henry. It was her first time away from her mother. I dressed her in a new outfit and put a bow in her hair. We met at Hooters. You tend to get a lot of attention if you bring your babies to Hooters. Patrick arrived before I did and was basking in the fawning over his two month old and then I go and bring in even a smaller baby. I kind of stole his thunder. Heh. It was fun for us guys to catch up and talk about fatherhood while our babies slept.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
I am my daughter's father
I'm growing a beard. I do that sometimes. My new job allows it so I figure what the hell. Actually I'm trying to get all the fellers at work to grow one too. It's a fun diversion, and frankly it's just something to do to pass the winter. But I have an ulterior motive.
The first step in any good beard project is to stop shaving. Simple enough. Then once you've got a decent beard rolling you can shave parts of it off and make fun facial hairstyles. I think Im gonna do the reverse Abe Lincoln this time. You know the one where your sideburns hook up with your stache but your chin is naked. I'll rock that for a couple of weeks and wait for my mustache to get good and bushy and then shave the burns. I figure by the time my daughter is born I will have a full on Burt Reynolds, state trooper, 70's style stache.
When Ronnie is born I will be in numerous photos. I will be pictured holding her. Her daddy will be the tough looking guy with the bushy mustache. I'll have to make sure I'm wearing my Iron Maiden t-shirt when she is born. This all plays into the double standard for boys and girls. For my son its okay to be the silly dad, but with my daughter, I want to project the image of the scary dad not to be trifled with. Maybe I should always carry a fake mustache to wear whenever I'm photographed with her so I can maintain the mystique. So when boys come over she'll point to my picture in annoyance and say, "thats my dad" and those little pricks will think twice about doing her wrong. This is going to be so much fun!
The first step in any good beard project is to stop shaving. Simple enough. Then once you've got a decent beard rolling you can shave parts of it off and make fun facial hairstyles. I think Im gonna do the reverse Abe Lincoln this time. You know the one where your sideburns hook up with your stache but your chin is naked. I'll rock that for a couple of weeks and wait for my mustache to get good and bushy and then shave the burns. I figure by the time my daughter is born I will have a full on Burt Reynolds, state trooper, 70's style stache.
When Ronnie is born I will be in numerous photos. I will be pictured holding her. Her daddy will be the tough looking guy with the bushy mustache. I'll have to make sure I'm wearing my Iron Maiden t-shirt when she is born. This all plays into the double standard for boys and girls. For my son its okay to be the silly dad, but with my daughter, I want to project the image of the scary dad not to be trifled with. Maybe I should always carry a fake mustache to wear whenever I'm photographed with her so I can maintain the mystique. So when boys come over she'll point to my picture in annoyance and say, "thats my dad" and those little pricks will think twice about doing her wrong. This is going to be so much fun!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
New President
I'm glad to have the 43rd person to add to my list of Presidents. Don't ever forget to count Grover Cleveland twice. At mid day today as the inauguration was rolling I hoisted my coffee cup and realized that it was now obsolete. My coffee cup has all the presidents on it, or it did until today. Now I'm missing one. I need a new cup.
So now it's midnight. After inauguration. The parties are probably still going strong in Washington, but I hope Mr Obama takes a few minutes away from the revelry to just wander the halls of the white house by himself. I hope our new president can find a moment to be just a man and to savor the awesome position he has achieved. Before he gets put through the harsh, aging process our presidents go through, I sincerely wish President Obama one night to just be giddy with the excitement and the novelty of it all, before the job itself puts it's crushing pressure upon his shoulders.
I hope he is allowed to wander the darkened halls of the White House tonight, alone, in his pajamas, to just explore his new domain. I love that image. Hopefully too he can be left alone in silence so he can hear in the distance the shadows of those who occupied that house before him. As he wanders and passes by the portraits of his predecessors I hope he quietly listens to their ghostly murmurs, and finds solace in his membership in this exclusive club. And I hope he passes the portrait of James K. Polk and pauses for a moment, and smiles and nods to the old curmudgeon. Across the hall ole Harry Truman gives the "new guy" a wink and wishes him the best.
Then as our newly elected leader walks into his new office I hope he sits down at his desk and rifles through all the drawers thinking to himself, "this is my desk now." Then I truly hope in one of the drawers is a gift that looks like it was wrapped by a seven year old and has a big bow on it and a tag that says, "To Barak, from George" Barack is spelled wrong. He opens it and within is a special totem passed down from one chief executive to another, and a note from Mr. Bush wishing him the best, because in spite of all our political fighting I like to think of all of us belonging to the fraternity of America. Under the gift I hope Barack sees carved into the bottom of the drawer, "Bill was here."
I wish this for him. Before he is expected to perform miracles, I hope he can just be the man who is in awe of his own accomplishment. To be able to enjoy his moment.
Good luck sir. I'll be sending you your card on Presidents Day. Someday no matter what you accomplish you will have a stamp, and a coin, and a few schools named for you. Do your best. Follow your conscience, and do what you think is best for us. Be true to your principles, for even if we don't agree that is all you can do. Make the hard decisions. Be willing to make the unpopular decisions, and lead. People love to have someone to look to. To be our king. So be our king for 4 to 8 years and then step aside graciously. This republic can succeed. It will succeed. And don't forget to have some fun.
And listen to the ghostly voices murmuring in the halls. They know how you feel.
So now it's midnight. After inauguration. The parties are probably still going strong in Washington, but I hope Mr Obama takes a few minutes away from the revelry to just wander the halls of the white house by himself. I hope our new president can find a moment to be just a man and to savor the awesome position he has achieved. Before he gets put through the harsh, aging process our presidents go through, I sincerely wish President Obama one night to just be giddy with the excitement and the novelty of it all, before the job itself puts it's crushing pressure upon his shoulders.
I hope he is allowed to wander the darkened halls of the White House tonight, alone, in his pajamas, to just explore his new domain. I love that image. Hopefully too he can be left alone in silence so he can hear in the distance the shadows of those who occupied that house before him. As he wanders and passes by the portraits of his predecessors I hope he quietly listens to their ghostly murmurs, and finds solace in his membership in this exclusive club. And I hope he passes the portrait of James K. Polk and pauses for a moment, and smiles and nods to the old curmudgeon. Across the hall ole Harry Truman gives the "new guy" a wink and wishes him the best.
Then as our newly elected leader walks into his new office I hope he sits down at his desk and rifles through all the drawers thinking to himself, "this is my desk now." Then I truly hope in one of the drawers is a gift that looks like it was wrapped by a seven year old and has a big bow on it and a tag that says, "To Barak, from George" Barack is spelled wrong. He opens it and within is a special totem passed down from one chief executive to another, and a note from Mr. Bush wishing him the best, because in spite of all our political fighting I like to think of all of us belonging to the fraternity of America. Under the gift I hope Barack sees carved into the bottom of the drawer, "Bill was here."
I wish this for him. Before he is expected to perform miracles, I hope he can just be the man who is in awe of his own accomplishment. To be able to enjoy his moment.
Good luck sir. I'll be sending you your card on Presidents Day. Someday no matter what you accomplish you will have a stamp, and a coin, and a few schools named for you. Do your best. Follow your conscience, and do what you think is best for us. Be true to your principles, for even if we don't agree that is all you can do. Make the hard decisions. Be willing to make the unpopular decisions, and lead. People love to have someone to look to. To be our king. So be our king for 4 to 8 years and then step aside graciously. This republic can succeed. It will succeed. And don't forget to have some fun.
And listen to the ghostly voices murmuring in the halls. They know how you feel.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Rocka Rolla
So I have been playing music for 20 years now. I just got done playing a rock show at the Kitty Cat Club and I thought it was fantastic. It was so much fun. This was probably the 400th gig I've played in my rock career, or something like that, and I was able to play and sing and feel comfortable and confident onstage. I can look at my band mates and smile and nod and even carry on small talk occasionally. I have even developed stances, and I strike my guitar with exaggerated flourish. I love performing. But it wasn't always this way.
Music does not come naturally to me. I've had to work at it. It's taken me 20 years to have the confidence and presence in a band that some of my peers achieved in their first couple years of playing. Creative thought however does come naturally to me. In high school I began my musical journey by writing song lyrics when I should have been paying attention to algebra. Three of my earliest songs were called, "My Head Explodes", "Fucking Gay", and "Battling Nations". I would show these to my buddy Paul who had already at that time made his first solo demo and was the guitar player in his brothers' band. Paul was and is very good. He put music to the latter of those three songs and it came out on one of their demos. My name was in print. I liked it. I liked it a lot. Paul wanted to start his own band and decided I was weird and flamboyant enough to be the front man. I could write lyrics, so it seemed the perfect way for me to become musical. It was perfect, I wouldn't even have to learn to play an instrument. But there was a problem. I couldn't sing. Singing is an instrument I later realized that has to be learned. I just couldn't get it right. I was off pitch and I didn't even know what that meant. I was clueless. Useless. It wasn't like singing in chorus. Sigh.
That was when I was handed the bass guitar. There was an electric spark of destiny as I put that thing on my neck. Only four strings, and they were big ones, it was like remedial reading class. I figured it would be a snap, but I had to work at it. It was difficult at first. I learned some easy songs, and then I started writing my own parts. The thing is while I was really bad at playing bass, I was very quickly able to actually write simple things. I had the creativity but none of the skill or talent.
Anyway that was 20 years ago. My first band made a demo which I am still strangely proud of and drawn to. We did things out of ignorance which I now would never even consider. It was awesome. When we played our first show I was meek and nervous. My tongue was probably sticking out as I was counting every plunk in my head, nervously studying my fingers, terrified to look away for even a micro-second lest I fall off the groove. Later that night I met a girl, and she seemed to think I was interesting. I never looked back.
A year after my first band began I decided to learn how to play guitar. Maybe I was hoping for a promotion. I took it very seriously and I learned what all the notes were. There were lots of kids back then who couldn't tell you were a G was on the guitar, they did it all by ear. I figured if I understood guitar I could at least communicate with my bandmates better. I wrestled with that damn guitar. It was so hard. Chords! Fuck me. My fingers were not meant to bend in all those strange shapes. I can remember lying on my bed crying because I could not transition from a C chord to a G chord without ten minutes of prep time. And bar chords? Forget it. Simply impossible. I was not going to get that promotion any time soon. After time I did learn to play guitar, but I've never been more than adequate at it. I have guitars lying around all over my house now, and I play them everyday. I write songs on them and play Beatles songs for my son, but I've only played guitar onstage once, and that wasn't anything to brag about.
After I mastered being really crappy on guitar, I went on to learn how to be really crappy on the piano, and then later how to be even crappier on the drums. That entire time I was still practicing on how to be a crappy singer. And I wrote songs. I kept writing songs. After a couple years I began to realize that I was not crappy on the bass. I was somewhat adequate. When I would jam with people I was even complimented occasionally as having a "style" of my own, (which I was ripping off from Peter Hook and Paul McCartney). People seemed to like me on bass, and I liked playing bass, so I just kept doing it. I became and have remained a bass player. And I am now proud to be a bass player. Bass players rule! But I wanted to write music too.
My problem as a bass player, was that it is difficult to bring forth song ideas on that instrument. Guitar players need more to go on than I was able to provide and I would often have the songs I wrote being changed simply by my inability to communicate my vision. The other big problem was that while I could sing to myself, or hear the vocal melody in my head, I simply could not sing and play at the same time. I worked on this all the time. I eventually was able to sing while strumming chords on a guitar, but singing while playing bass was simply not a feat any human could accomplish. Except people did it all the time. I then spent years simply not trying to communicate my ideas. I became just the bass player.
Ten years ago I was in a really good band. I was having fun playing bass at shows, but I was still terrified on stage. I was obsessed with not making mistakes. I could barely make eye contact with another band member while playing a song. I had to focus on the task at hand. That worked for the shoegazer style of music we were doing, but I wanted to do better.
After some time I found myself without a band. I spent about a year just writing songs on the guitar. I practiced writing entire songs, with beginnings, and ends, middle eights, verses, choruses, codas, etc. I just wrote. And I did some demos. I loved the demos because I could track everything separately. Most of it was crap but the bass lines were good. I then learned to bring those crappy demo ideas to other people and have them put their own talents into them. Somewhere during this time my confidence was building. I learned to communicate with other musicians. I was able to step up to the mic and sing while playing. It just happened. Suddenly I was capable of singing backup vocals live. I'm still not the best singer, but damnit I can sing and play at the same time finally. After that I was able to let my concentration drop while playing. I was able to look around, to smile, to develop exaggerated movements. And I didn't care if I made a mistake, I was able to simply enjoy the moment and get back on track if anything went wrong. I still try to not fuck up, that's what practice is for, but still this was a major breakthrough for me.
So here I am now 20 years later, and I'm just finally doing what I want to do musically. But I'm still honing the skill. It doesn't come naturally to me. I'm continually working to be better. Maybe in 20 years I'll be that grandpa musician who makes it look easy. I'm a slow ass learner. Actually that applies to every aspect of my life. Possibly the effort is what generates wisdom. I hope so. Tonight I played adequate, but I felt awesome while doing it. All that really matters in the end is that you enjoy the ride.
Music does not come naturally to me. I've had to work at it. It's taken me 20 years to have the confidence and presence in a band that some of my peers achieved in their first couple years of playing. Creative thought however does come naturally to me. In high school I began my musical journey by writing song lyrics when I should have been paying attention to algebra. Three of my earliest songs were called, "My Head Explodes", "Fucking Gay", and "Battling Nations". I would show these to my buddy Paul who had already at that time made his first solo demo and was the guitar player in his brothers' band. Paul was and is very good. He put music to the latter of those three songs and it came out on one of their demos. My name was in print. I liked it. I liked it a lot. Paul wanted to start his own band and decided I was weird and flamboyant enough to be the front man. I could write lyrics, so it seemed the perfect way for me to become musical. It was perfect, I wouldn't even have to learn to play an instrument. But there was a problem. I couldn't sing. Singing is an instrument I later realized that has to be learned. I just couldn't get it right. I was off pitch and I didn't even know what that meant. I was clueless. Useless. It wasn't like singing in chorus. Sigh.
That was when I was handed the bass guitar. There was an electric spark of destiny as I put that thing on my neck. Only four strings, and they were big ones, it was like remedial reading class. I figured it would be a snap, but I had to work at it. It was difficult at first. I learned some easy songs, and then I started writing my own parts. The thing is while I was really bad at playing bass, I was very quickly able to actually write simple things. I had the creativity but none of the skill or talent.
Anyway that was 20 years ago. My first band made a demo which I am still strangely proud of and drawn to. We did things out of ignorance which I now would never even consider. It was awesome. When we played our first show I was meek and nervous. My tongue was probably sticking out as I was counting every plunk in my head, nervously studying my fingers, terrified to look away for even a micro-second lest I fall off the groove. Later that night I met a girl, and she seemed to think I was interesting. I never looked back.
A year after my first band began I decided to learn how to play guitar. Maybe I was hoping for a promotion. I took it very seriously and I learned what all the notes were. There were lots of kids back then who couldn't tell you were a G was on the guitar, they did it all by ear. I figured if I understood guitar I could at least communicate with my bandmates better. I wrestled with that damn guitar. It was so hard. Chords! Fuck me. My fingers were not meant to bend in all those strange shapes. I can remember lying on my bed crying because I could not transition from a C chord to a G chord without ten minutes of prep time. And bar chords? Forget it. Simply impossible. I was not going to get that promotion any time soon. After time I did learn to play guitar, but I've never been more than adequate at it. I have guitars lying around all over my house now, and I play them everyday. I write songs on them and play Beatles songs for my son, but I've only played guitar onstage once, and that wasn't anything to brag about.
After I mastered being really crappy on guitar, I went on to learn how to be really crappy on the piano, and then later how to be even crappier on the drums. That entire time I was still practicing on how to be a crappy singer. And I wrote songs. I kept writing songs. After a couple years I began to realize that I was not crappy on the bass. I was somewhat adequate. When I would jam with people I was even complimented occasionally as having a "style" of my own, (which I was ripping off from Peter Hook and Paul McCartney). People seemed to like me on bass, and I liked playing bass, so I just kept doing it. I became and have remained a bass player. And I am now proud to be a bass player. Bass players rule! But I wanted to write music too.
My problem as a bass player, was that it is difficult to bring forth song ideas on that instrument. Guitar players need more to go on than I was able to provide and I would often have the songs I wrote being changed simply by my inability to communicate my vision. The other big problem was that while I could sing to myself, or hear the vocal melody in my head, I simply could not sing and play at the same time. I worked on this all the time. I eventually was able to sing while strumming chords on a guitar, but singing while playing bass was simply not a feat any human could accomplish. Except people did it all the time. I then spent years simply not trying to communicate my ideas. I became just the bass player.
Ten years ago I was in a really good band. I was having fun playing bass at shows, but I was still terrified on stage. I was obsessed with not making mistakes. I could barely make eye contact with another band member while playing a song. I had to focus on the task at hand. That worked for the shoegazer style of music we were doing, but I wanted to do better.
After some time I found myself without a band. I spent about a year just writing songs on the guitar. I practiced writing entire songs, with beginnings, and ends, middle eights, verses, choruses, codas, etc. I just wrote. And I did some demos. I loved the demos because I could track everything separately. Most of it was crap but the bass lines were good. I then learned to bring those crappy demo ideas to other people and have them put their own talents into them. Somewhere during this time my confidence was building. I learned to communicate with other musicians. I was able to step up to the mic and sing while playing. It just happened. Suddenly I was capable of singing backup vocals live. I'm still not the best singer, but damnit I can sing and play at the same time finally. After that I was able to let my concentration drop while playing. I was able to look around, to smile, to develop exaggerated movements. And I didn't care if I made a mistake, I was able to simply enjoy the moment and get back on track if anything went wrong. I still try to not fuck up, that's what practice is for, but still this was a major breakthrough for me.
So here I am now 20 years later, and I'm just finally doing what I want to do musically. But I'm still honing the skill. It doesn't come naturally to me. I'm continually working to be better. Maybe in 20 years I'll be that grandpa musician who makes it look easy. I'm a slow ass learner. Actually that applies to every aspect of my life. Possibly the effort is what generates wisdom. I hope so. Tonight I played adequate, but I felt awesome while doing it. All that really matters in the end is that you enjoy the ride.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Charity CD
Last year my band Mercurial Rage made a Christmas song. It was fun, and something I had been wanting to do for a long time. This year that song has been placed on a holiday compilation. Go here to check it out and buy a copy. All for a good cause and a great way to celebrate the Solstice. Yeah!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Date Night
So me and mama B are finally gonna go out on a date. We are calling in a long standing offer from Kirk's godfather. So Kirkie is gonna go to "uncle" Michael's house while mommy and daddy go to a sit down restaurant experience without having to yell at someone for tipping out all the salt and screaming when he gets bored. Don't get me wrong, I love going out with the boy, it's just nice not to have to do continuous daddy patrol. We can sit and eat and talk like grownups for a change. MMM. Sounds delightful.
Kirk loves his goddad. Michael is the singer in my band and a close friend. Michael's wife will be out with her friends tomorrow so it will be just the boys. At first we thought they could watch Depeche Mode videos together, but Michael asked to have Kirk show him the movie Cars, which he has never seen. I told Kirk this and he was a little suspect of someone not having seen Cars. But then he got excited at the prospect of initiating someone into the world that is Cars. So tomorrow Kirk will take his Cars DVD, and a bucket of Cars toys to Michael's house and teach him about it.
Michael is a vegetarian. Kirk eats, well, mostly peanut butter sandwiches, cereal, carrots, and fruit. And candy if you ask him. They'll be fine. I don't care what they eat. It's not my job tomorrow. It's godfather time.
Kirk is fully potty trained when it comes to peeing. I'm not sure how well he'll pee in the potty without us, but we'll bring his potty ring with so he can show uncle Michael how cool he is peeing in the potty by himself. Again I don't care how they work it out. I can't be there forever. But still I hope my Kirkie can be all growed up around his godfather. It's a big step, and a necessary one. Kirk needs to be able to live without us or his daycare lady if he is to go to school and be a regular human and stuff.
I think this will be a win win win situation. We get to have a night out alone. Michael gets to spend some time with his godson and get a glimpse at his future as a parent, and Kirk gets to hang out with his cool godfather and show off what a big boy he is. For michael the worst case scenario I can see is that Kirk will pee a little off the potty. Easily cleaned, but he will then freak out on his failure and cry a lot and be a dick. No worse than dealing with me when I'm drunk. And Michael has done that plenty.
Kirk loves his goddad. Michael is the singer in my band and a close friend. Michael's wife will be out with her friends tomorrow so it will be just the boys. At first we thought they could watch Depeche Mode videos together, but Michael asked to have Kirk show him the movie Cars, which he has never seen. I told Kirk this and he was a little suspect of someone not having seen Cars. But then he got excited at the prospect of initiating someone into the world that is Cars. So tomorrow Kirk will take his Cars DVD, and a bucket of Cars toys to Michael's house and teach him about it.
Michael is a vegetarian. Kirk eats, well, mostly peanut butter sandwiches, cereal, carrots, and fruit. And candy if you ask him. They'll be fine. I don't care what they eat. It's not my job tomorrow. It's godfather time.
Kirk is fully potty trained when it comes to peeing. I'm not sure how well he'll pee in the potty without us, but we'll bring his potty ring with so he can show uncle Michael how cool he is peeing in the potty by himself. Again I don't care how they work it out. I can't be there forever. But still I hope my Kirkie can be all growed up around his godfather. It's a big step, and a necessary one. Kirk needs to be able to live without us or his daycare lady if he is to go to school and be a regular human and stuff.
I think this will be a win win win situation. We get to have a night out alone. Michael gets to spend some time with his godson and get a glimpse at his future as a parent, and Kirk gets to hang out with his cool godfather and show off what a big boy he is. For michael the worst case scenario I can see is that Kirk will pee a little off the potty. Easily cleaned, but he will then freak out on his failure and cry a lot and be a dick. No worse than dealing with me when I'm drunk. And Michael has done that plenty.
Monday, November 10, 2008
It's a Girl!....Probably
We had our ultrasound and we saw a very healthy baby, and the "gender appears female". Of course this is not always 100%. If you don't see a penis, it doesn't always mean it's not there. People have thought they were having a girl, painted a pink room, spent tons on cute dresses, only to be surprised at the actual birth. But our whole family has had strong "girl vibes" all along the way. Kirk always uses the pronouns her and she when referring to the baby inside mommy's tummy. Though he still says he wants a brother.
This ultrasound was amazing, we saw her move her mouth and her fingers and her arms and legs. Squirmy little thing. Like her old man. With Kirk we didn't really see movement, although we did see a clear shot of his penis and balls. I'm still very confident it's a girl and I couldn't be more thrilled. One of each is even steven. I like that. My brother also has one of each, so we are keeping it consistent and giving my parents two of each flavor of grandchildren. (A girl tips the balance towards girls on her mothers side). I can't wait to be the daddy of a daughter. I never had a sister, so I love the idea of having another female in my family. I can't wait to put her in cute little dresses and put ribbons in her hair and all those girly things. Her brother is all boy, so I imagine she will be a tough little tomboy of a kid too. And I can polish my shotguns just waiting for some guy to try to pick her up for a date in a van.
I'm gonna be a daddy again! Yay!
I have to admit this second child thing has made me feel odd. I have not had as much of the excitement and magic that I felt with the first one, until now. Now that I have seen her move, it feels more real. I'm ready to give full unconditional love to another and it feels divine.
We are thinking of naming her Veronica. We will call her Ronnie. My dad's name is Ronald and it is my middle name as well. Little Ronnie Hill will be the coolest person on the face of the earth just like Kirk Hill is. Also she and her mother will each enjoy having Elvis Costello songs named for them. (My wife's name is Belsum BTW, I'm sure you all know the Elvis Costello song titled Belsum) And I will continually say to her, "just like Ronnie said, be my little baby."
And she will love me forever because I'm her daddy and I'm practically awesome. And she will snuggle me long after Kirk thinks it's lame to hug his dad. Okay kids you may notice I'm a little giddy with this post. Hee.
So my brother and I were talking about how we both have contributed females to this new generation of Hills. Females have been in short supply for quite some time. My dad had a sister, but both he and his brother produced sets of boys. My aunt never had childrens so our entire generation is all boys. We are the Hillboys and we have grown to love it. We get together during non-holiday times to celebrate our Hillboyness together. But now there are going to be two fresh Hill girls in the mix. We just love it.
Oh yes, children! I will soon have child-ren. Not just child. I love that too. I can now talk about my kids in the plural.
I could go on forever, but let me just say that I am extremely happy that our kick ass Nordic genes have produced a healthy baby, and that this new baby will soon join a family full of love. And she will be loved, very much, even if it turns out that she's a boy.
This ultrasound was amazing, we saw her move her mouth and her fingers and her arms and legs. Squirmy little thing. Like her old man. With Kirk we didn't really see movement, although we did see a clear shot of his penis and balls. I'm still very confident it's a girl and I couldn't be more thrilled. One of each is even steven. I like that. My brother also has one of each, so we are keeping it consistent and giving my parents two of each flavor of grandchildren. (A girl tips the balance towards girls on her mothers side). I can't wait to be the daddy of a daughter. I never had a sister, so I love the idea of having another female in my family. I can't wait to put her in cute little dresses and put ribbons in her hair and all those girly things. Her brother is all boy, so I imagine she will be a tough little tomboy of a kid too. And I can polish my shotguns just waiting for some guy to try to pick her up for a date in a van.
I'm gonna be a daddy again! Yay!
I have to admit this second child thing has made me feel odd. I have not had as much of the excitement and magic that I felt with the first one, until now. Now that I have seen her move, it feels more real. I'm ready to give full unconditional love to another and it feels divine.
We are thinking of naming her Veronica. We will call her Ronnie. My dad's name is Ronald and it is my middle name as well. Little Ronnie Hill will be the coolest person on the face of the earth just like Kirk Hill is. Also she and her mother will each enjoy having Elvis Costello songs named for them. (My wife's name is Belsum BTW, I'm sure you all know the Elvis Costello song titled Belsum) And I will continually say to her, "just like Ronnie said, be my little baby."
And she will love me forever because I'm her daddy and I'm practically awesome. And she will snuggle me long after Kirk thinks it's lame to hug his dad. Okay kids you may notice I'm a little giddy with this post. Hee.
So my brother and I were talking about how we both have contributed females to this new generation of Hills. Females have been in short supply for quite some time. My dad had a sister, but both he and his brother produced sets of boys. My aunt never had childrens so our entire generation is all boys. We are the Hillboys and we have grown to love it. We get together during non-holiday times to celebrate our Hillboyness together. But now there are going to be two fresh Hill girls in the mix. We just love it.
Oh yes, children! I will soon have child-ren. Not just child. I love that too. I can now talk about my kids in the plural.
I could go on forever, but let me just say that I am extremely happy that our kick ass Nordic genes have produced a healthy baby, and that this new baby will soon join a family full of love. And she will be loved, very much, even if it turns out that she's a boy.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Making Gargamel proud
Smurf stew with potatoes, carrots, and onions, along with smurf broth and seasonings.
INGREDIENTS:
. 2 to 3 tablespoons vegetable oil
. 2 pounds lean de-boned stewing smurfs*, cut in 1-inch cubes
. 2 teaspoons salt
. 1 bay leaf
. 1/4 teaspoon dried leaf thyme, crushed
. 1 can (10 1/2 ounces) condensed smurf broth
. 3 1/4 cups water, divided
. 4 medium carrots, sliced
. 2 medium potatoes, cubed
. 12 small white onions
. 1/4 cup cornstarch
PREPARATION:
In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium heat. Add smurfs; brown well on all sides. Add salt, bay leaf, and thyme, along with the condensed smurf broth and 3 cups of the water.
Cover and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 1 1/2 hours. Add carrots, potatoes, and onions; simmer for about 30 minutes longer, or until vegetables are tender. Combine cornstarch and remaining 1/4 cup of water; stir until smooth. Stir cornstarch mixture into the stew. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Boil for 1 minutes. Serves 6.
*It takes about 12 de-boned smurfs to yield a pound of smurf meat. For best results I recommend free range smurfs. You can find these at your local co-op. They cost a little more but it’s worth it.
INGREDIENTS:
. 2 to 3 tablespoons vegetable oil
. 2 pounds lean de-boned stewing smurfs*, cut in 1-inch cubes
. 2 teaspoons salt
. 1 bay leaf
. 1/4 teaspoon dried leaf thyme, crushed
. 1 can (10 1/2 ounces) condensed smurf broth
. 3 1/4 cups water, divided
. 4 medium carrots, sliced
. 2 medium potatoes, cubed
. 12 small white onions
. 1/4 cup cornstarch
PREPARATION:
In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium heat. Add smurfs; brown well on all sides. Add salt, bay leaf, and thyme, along with the condensed smurf broth and 3 cups of the water.
Cover and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 1 1/2 hours. Add carrots, potatoes, and onions; simmer for about 30 minutes longer, or until vegetables are tender. Combine cornstarch and remaining 1/4 cup of water; stir until smooth. Stir cornstarch mixture into the stew. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Boil for 1 minutes. Serves 6.
*It takes about 12 de-boned smurfs to yield a pound of smurf meat. For best results I recommend free range smurfs. You can find these at your local co-op. They cost a little more but it’s worth it.
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