Quality Not Quantity

This was printed in the Buffalo News, February, 2007, which ultimately got me to stay in Buffalo.

Leave Your Mark

So I got my wig split today; haircut, for the lay-person. As part of the routine, I had the longest hair of my life shampoo'ed prior to meeting the scissors. As I rested my head, speaking to the two-month-old hair washer/stylist, I found out that she had just finished beauty school, was "trying to build her cleintele" and subsiquently scrubbing a ton of locks in the process.

This revelation made me think about assistant basketball coaches, junior financial advisors, the bassist in a band, and every bussboy/waiter/server in any restaurant across the world. They all had the same idea, regardless of the industry.

I could do it better myself.

That though has crossed the mind of every associate producer of TV commercials and movies, every account exec. at an advertising agency, every clothing designer. They could get the better shot, write a better tagline, or stitch the hottest fashion.

Same as that bartender with the idea for the "it" new lounge or the coach with a better box set to attack a 1-3-1 defense.

The premise is simple, the execution much grander. we all have exquisite dreams of being or own boss, executing our own plans and bringing a little of ourself to this world. It takes mas cahones and a leap of faith to stretch our boundaries and do our own thing, but maybe not as much as we think. We can apply a little of each of us to all that we do. There is no need to remain stagnant, albiet wearing bold stripes to work (haha), or whatever it is you do to stand out. It doesn't have to be newsworthy, or turn into a Fortune 500 company, but always LEAVE. YOUR. MARK.

If you have an idea and are passionate about it, take a risk. If you want a raise, tell your boss you deserve it, or that your competitor says you deserve it. Fly to Chicago on a whim without an interview, things like this make you realize have options, and a pulse.

Pain equals growth, and pain can mean anything; constantly being in the background playing bass in your band, washing mounds of dishes, being a glorified secretary for your accounts, etc. But, eventually you will take all of the experience you accumulated and set yourself free, or use the interpretation in your everyday role, and there is nobility in either decision.

Because you cannot build your clientele without washing a ton of hair first. Hypothetically speaking.

Dave Matthews Band

I know, I know, how 2001, right? "DMB, that was so college, I haven't gone to a show in years," is probably what you are saying.

To be honest, I haven't though about/listened to/planned a weekend in a field heavily intoxicated with the jamband from Charlotteville much since I resided in Allegany county several years ago either, but with this marvelous addition of MTV HD to our cable, a surprised yet giddy feeling came over me last night when I saw their Storytellers would be on HD in 15 minutes.

High Definition is like a toy used out of necessity. Even with the rash of shows now broadcast in 720p and above, there is still a lack of quality HD programming, and with the beauty of picture perfect photography on a 46" TV, you sometimes watch anything HD just becuase. Even if it is something like National Geographic's Top Ten Gardens in the US, or even women's basketball. HD just makes it all better. Well, almost anything better, I still refrain from some things, like the WNBA, "We Got Next!" But I digress.

So the picture is gorgeous, and I tuned into an hour of the completely incomprehensible lead singer who humbly still fronts the band that I discovered at a high school prom party and helped me through the range of emotions any college student feels. While they became everyone's favority band, and turned a large number of people off, thier shows were always an event, some mailed-in efforts, some producing vivid days that still stand out in my mind. It was not a concert, it was a celebration, a reason to drive to a summer reunion with friends and sit in a field and jam along with five uber-talented musicians who just put you at ease.

The diference between DMB shows and others is that while college kids listen to all kinds of music, and attend concerts from several genres, Rap, Classic Rock, Indie bands; you could always see other shows, rap shows with a cloud of pot lingering in the arena and potential fights, Rock concerts spanning generations with parents introducing thier kids to their revelations and the Indie shows, bringing out those looking for the cool new bands, before they become the cool new "popular" bands. But Dave shows, while cliched with fratboys in muscle shirts, sorority girls in tank tops, and hippies galore hocking anything Lillywhite you can think of; it was always a chill party, everytime, with damn good music.

Say what you want about how they have changed, but DMB produced several meaningful songs to me and probaly thousands of others that I still enjoy, even though I forgot about them for awhile. But songs like #41, Crash, and the newer song I heard last night, Dream Girl, are powerful songs, and hearing the band tell stories and just play reminds me of running into an old friend I haven't seen in a long time. Visions of driving to Toronto, the Skud and obscure horse tracks like Vernon Downs come to mind. As I hear some of the drivel played on the radio now, its cool to go back and listen to what I grew up with, not just DMB but old Tribe Called Quest and grous like that.

I don't think I am going to bust out the tie-died shirt anytime soon and join the Warehouse, but I can definately listen to Warehouse and appreciate it as much in 2007 as in 2001.

The Real Meaning of Christmas

It's funny how the aura and mystique of the Christmas season changes with the age in the eye of the beholder. For some reason, I have not found myself in the "Christmas spirit" this year, with several reasons contributing to this I assume, the most being in a state of flux where and what I will be doing in the near future.

But I digress, seeing those below the age of 8 under the spell of Santa sliding down that chimney and cookies and Christmas break takes you back to a simpler time when that anticipation of gifts and the scare that Santa mysteriously observes every little child and somehow their actions dictates the plethora of boxes underneath their tree. Damn those scare tactics our parents used on us succeptible kids.

This leads me to where I am at now, and it began during the impressionable college years. Those exciting few days when everyone was home on break, and the get-togethers t local bars were some of the best times, sharing similar yet different college stories and enjoying that month of freedom.

Those are the things that I discovered mean more to me now about this time of year than anything else, the real "presents" are the little things that occur in the 4th quarter of the year. As we get older and spread our wings, the reunions collaborate less, which makes seeing a long-time friend even more exciting. Finding out your wonderful friends have just had a health baby girl puts a smile on your face. Announcements of engagements make being around the people that matter to you the most cherish those times. Because selfishly, you want to spend more time with them and revert back to simpler times, but you realize that these wonderful surprises are thier gift to you, and sharing them means that you matter in someones life.

Thats why simpler things like landing an interview with your dream company a few days before Christmas Day, or a strike affecting thousands of families comes to a conclusion, bringing normalcy back to all of their lives. These are the gifts that mean more than a new Playstation 3 or a Tickle Me Elmo.

Finding the joy in the little things maybe took a little while longer this season, but maybe Santa just wanted me to sweat out if I was a good boy or not all year long.

Oh How the Times Have Changed

Oh how the times have changed.

Fifteen years ago, on a Saturday night, I was eating BBQ chicken fingers and playing video games with my friends Tony and Shane in my parents basement, the only worry I had was that hopefully those two would wake up to help me deliver newspapers. Now-a-days, I only accidentally run into Tony, and Shane lives with his girlfriend, the same kid who chose the NFL Sunday Ticket over a relationship.

Ten years ago, I was probably just finishing up a Varsity Basketball game, early in the season, and hanging out with the boys, maybe going to a high school dance; not a care in the world. Dances were early on, but if we weren't hitting either a St. Joes or Canisius dance up (where we had to get tickets ahead of time for), we would be slamming a 40 on the way up to Canada going to the clubs there.

Five years ago, actually six, was like living on cloud 9. Senior year in college, probably having a party before a Bonnies basketball game after a day of playing hoops with the guys, watching sports, then probably going to the Redemption Center for a keg, or just going to the Shack and destroying their house for the night. Way simpler times.

One year ago, living in Chicago, played hoops in the morning with some guys, a quick trip to the gym, then probably over to Tom's house to hang out with the Bonnies group, with a culmination at the Hangge Uppe 80's bar. Paying a rediculous rent and doing the "big city" thing at a new job with a ton of responsibility.

Flash forward to today. Twenty seven-years-old. Just found out more friends had a baby today (congrats Sarah and Nick). Innocence gone, wondering how many weddings I will be attending next year and what city I will end up in doing God knows what.

Life seems to be flying by, with it goes simplicity replaced by that nasty R-word: responsibilities. Friends I never though would get married have, others are buying houses, climing the corporate ladder and falling off the face of the earth, and a few are still finding themselves like me.

Its funny how things change, even though it is inevitable. Cell phones were obsolete during college. IM'ing people came towards the end. Your friend pool shrinks, however, hypocritically, I am posting this on Myspace, a haven for some to accumulate a friend collection larger than they really interact with.

All I know is that things are vastly different from the innocent days, as to be expected. I just don't know what other changes lie ahead. As Chris Martin of Coldplay sings, "You feel like you're going where you've been before. You tell anyone who'll listen but you feel ignored. Nothing's really making any sense at all."

Indeed it's not.

Following The Leader

You saw Talladega Nights, right? The new Will Farrell movie? It was awesome, right? Same thing for The Last Kiss, Zack Braff produced it AND picked the soundtrack, so it has to be just as good as Garden State, right? Right?

The same goes for bands like Of Montreal, things like Sabres hockey, there is probably an example in any genre/category you can think of.

What I am talking about is basing decisions on the uneducated advice of others, then running with it, spreading the gossip without sometimes experiencing the actual product. I admit, I am guilty of exactly what I am discussing, but why?

I am loyal to the local teams, but you couldn't catch me dead watching an NHL game prior to this year unless it was either a playoff game or there were free tickets in my hand. Now-a-days, I am discussing the "new-look" Sabres with my mother, watching intently to almost every broadcast to analyze each power play, like I somehow inherited Scotty Bowman skills from watching the playoffs last year. The Sabres caught fire, and the Queen City was back on the bandwagon. So do I follow these young skaters because I now care about the nuances of hockey... or is it because everyone in the city has an opinion on Ryan Miller's play of late?

Same goes for the afor-mentioned movies. A Will Farrell movie is sure to clean up at the box office, but is it really as funny as people claim it to be, or do you have to justify waiting in line the night it comes out by over-hyping the flick? The same could be said for Anchorman, a film I though deserved far less gleaming reviews from friends who though it was "hilarious." were there several funny parts, yes, but an over the top gasser? Far from it. Maybe it's the will Farrell Syndrome. The move HAS to be funny because he is it, but is that just a way to fit in by not going against the grain chastising the "it" comic, whose ranks include Chris Farley, Jim Carrey, Adam Sandler, etc.

Which brings me to The Last Kiss. I'll admit, as a fan of Garden State (although I hated it the first time I watched it) and the soundtrack, I was excited to see this, regardless if it's a chick flick. Braff has good taste in music, and he does not seem to need the spotlight too much. However, the clichés were aplenty. The requisite Coldplay song, the similar storylines, etc. Don't get me wrong, I like Coldplay, but the numbers showed exactly what I expected. The movie reeked of an "Indie" label, except it wasn't, it was a mainstream major studio deal, and I was roped in along with millions of others. It wasn't earth-shattering material in any aspect, but to hear people recommend this as if it were the stuffing of the Braff Indie trilogy, makes you wonder if those that waxed poetic really found something deep in this movie, or they just wanted to fit in with the hip crowd.

You be the judge.