To the Conservatives Who Hate Welfare

I once had some friends[1] who were your typical Rush Limbaugh-loving conservatives who loved to complain about welfare programs. CNBC offers a nice slide show on your tax dollars at work. It basically breaks down like this:

42% – Military
22% – Healthcare
10% – National Debt
8% – Anti-Poverty programs
4% – Education and social services
4% – Law enforcement
3% – HUD
3% – DOE, Environment, Science
1.5% – Agriculture

So let’s say welfare programs as we know them are split between social services and anti-poverty programs. Let’s be generous and say welfare programs take up 5% of your tax dollar. So if you gave the US $1,000 in taxes, that means you spent $50 on welfare programs. I realize $50 is a lot of money for something you hate, but when the money is pooled, can’t you just pretend you didn’t spend that $50 on welfare and that I gave $100 for it? Does it really matter that much to you?

1.) They are no longer my friends because when I repeatedly requested that they not send me pro-Bush, pro-Iraq War emails, they did not stop doing so. I told them I would block their email addresses if they continued, and they did, so I blocked them and have not spoken to them since 2004 or so. I wonder what they think of Bush, Saddam, WMDs, etc., now.

The Restorative Properties of Music

As many of you know, I’ve been under a great deal of pressure these last few months. I can honestly say it’s been the worst few months of my life. Of course, that’s not saying much. Every time I complain about my job, someone trumps me: my roommate had a friend in Tennessee who was recently murdered, my friend Holly recently adopted a puppy only to watch it run into traffic and be torn apart, and my friend Arika has severe back pain that makes life difficult for her being the mother of two very young children. So the universe continually presents me with healthy doses of perspective. If this has been the worst few months of my life, then my life is still pretty damn good.

Still, it’s all relative. I put in my notice at work. I have some other offers, but I’ll wait and see how they pan out before I say too much about them. My posts will most likely continue to be rare in the coming months. I will be back in Arkansas May 20-29 for Riverfest, though.

Meanwhile, here is a song that continues to lift my spirits.

I just noticed that, as of today, if you look at my Last.fm tunes in the right column, you’ll see this song, “Nine in the Afternoon,” displayed three times.

32

As my birthday week closes out with a whimper, here is what I saw these last 7 days:

the inevitable letdown
the city in miniature
commuter hatred
the digital sky shines at night
the soft lights of Radio City
the physical limitations of old media
good advice
the headless mannequin
airwalks

And last but not least. For my birthday I went to see the legendary Les Paul. He’s the Thomas Edison of modern music, and of the two most famous electric guitars in the world[1], one bears his name: The Gibson Les Paul. He’s 92 and he still plays every Monday night in New York. He can still throw down some licks, too.

Oh, and i just discovered there was a pillow fight at Union Square yesterday and I missed it. Bummer.

1.) The other being the Fender Stratocaster, of course.

Saturday in the Sun

Finally the weather made it to the upper 50’s. I took a guitar and little portable amp to Tompkins Square Park to sit and play. I was only there for an hour or so; the fingers got a little cold. But I didn’t have to wear a coat! I also walked up Court Street and found some more gliders (cheaper this time, so I bought one). And thanks to daylight savings time, I can see the city better when I get home.

Lately I’ve been noticing things more on the ground – a dying flower, a spray bottle, and pairs of shoes and mittens. It’s rare that I find things left behind in pairs.

Also, a couple of weeks ago I got myself an early birthday present: I found a used Yamaha Ty Tabor signature model for just $300 at Guitar Center. Please, no one ask me how many guitars I already have. Tomorrow I’m 32. If I want to engage in excess, I’ve got an excuse.

My Father’s Son

I owe a great deal to my father: my obsession with music, my interest in theatre, my sense of humor, and several of my favorite movies are just a few things that I’ve taken from him. In fact, our similarities of taste are such that he requested a copy of one of my favorite movies of all time, Kicking and Screaming, for his birthday. While our tastes in music vary widely, there are some things in which we have a common interest, so I sent him Al Kooper‘s most recent CD as well. I would not be who I am today without him.

Happy birthday, dad.

Rainy Days Unenjoyed

I can’t hear the rain in this town. I have neither roof nor trees for it to hit. There could be a torrential downpour outside and I really wouldn’t know it unless I looked out the window. This is a strange, dissatisfying feeling for someone who enjoys a good rainy day.

And stress at work is amplifying. I’m going to get some work done from home on Sunday, so I’m trying to unplug it from my brain today. To do so, I spent some time this morning uploading some of my favorite older pictures to Flickr – pictures from Fayetteville, North Little Rock, Bryant, Harrison, and the Superflux studio sessions[1]. I also finally got around to posting the pictures of Last Chance Records, the place where music goes to die. I tell people to imagine the last scene of Raiders of the Lost Ark, but with records, tapes and CDs.

1.) By the way, the eventual final tracks from those sessions featured the producer, Barry Poynter, on guitar. My tracks didn’t make the cut. Which I’m fine with. It’s Steve and Cara’s thing; my heart wasn’t in it.

Positively 30th Street

My wanderings on Saturday took me to 30th street, where Marty told me the best guitar shop in NYC is located. Sure enough, 30th Street Guitars was a very impressive store. Also located on that street were another great Japanese toy shop, and Waves LLC, a vintage audio store. They had the widest selection of old radios, microphones, victrolas, and other retro paraphernalia. They even had several dozen Edison cylinders, the earliest commercial audio format. And a badass 80’s boom box with turntable.

Saturday evening I walked down to Houston to meet up with my common-law sister Elizabeth, and along the way I met a sad little train, a baboon and uniformed corpse, and some decorative lights at Sugar Cafe.

Throughout the weekend several other things jumped out at me demanding to be photographed: Love, Heck, Nail, an important note, some 45s, and Friday’s snowfall.