"The only thing constantly changing is change..." -- Lou Reed

I took this mantra of sorts from "The Raven," and it is more than true. It's been a while since I have blogged, and mostly that is because I'm so busy doing other things. But anyway, I'm listening to this:

This collection is one I often meditate to. Really nice stuff. I'm using it now at the Office because who knows what is going to come up on playlist today? Not that it's all bad but I've made my pronouncements on some of the stuff.

So...change. It is inevitable, and for the past year I have contemplated the oncoming rush of change that has to happen. I have not been afraid of it, more concerned about the execution thereof.

Before I get into details, I have found a job. I accepted an offer from a certain company, and I begin training on Monday. I need to explain something to you...you have been hearing in the news (if not having experienced it yourself), how people just go on and on looking for work, and are not finding anything. How some people have given up looking for work, have lost their benefits, and so forth?

Well, it happened to me. It's no different than what anyone else has gone through, but I am fortunate that I only am responsible for myself and my cats. That made it easier, but I know how hard it's been.

With my acceptance of this offer, I should soon be moved from part-time training to full time. Do you know how long it has been since I have had a full-time job? Meaning however many hours one is supposed to work to get "full-time?"

Five years.

Yes. I was let go from XM Radio in January 2009. I have been a jobber since then. To be fair, I did have severance for a while, and I did go back to school for ten months. I did not plan to go back into broadcasting, but it kind of happened that way.

My official job search lasted 27 months. I have a 92-page document of all of my job contacts, answers, interviews, etc. Now it's not Excel, so it probably would be a whole lot smaller than that, but that's what it is.

I am not one to subscribe to conspiracy theories or wild ideas of what is coming in this country. I left junior high school, folks. I do think however that the landscape of our economy must change as well, and fairly soon or we will have a serious issue.

On the same token, we can't sit around. I have not. My job hunt was a job, as I've often said about other things. We each must make those things happen for ourselves, best we can. 

So, where am I going?

http://www.tangotraffic.com/

If there is one portion of the broadcast world that is still working, it is...traffic. What do people need? What do they have to have to get about their work, their day, their lives?

The science has come a very long way. I spent nearly five years at XM doing traffic for more than 20 cities. It is an art, to take masses of information being hurled at you and turning that into a report listeners can understand.

With Twitter and all the immediate forms of social media, it has intensified. Our thirst for information is huge, but think about what kinds we NEED?

Tango is a new player in the arena, relatively speaking. I do not know the whole deal by far, and I train with one of my old colleagues from the XM and Metro Networks days. We go back a decade or more, and I've seen inside enough to know where we are headed. 

This is pretty exciting, actually. Now, what is funny is back in '09 or '10, I briefly worked for a startup firm called Traffic Talk. Sadly they could not get the money together for this, but the guys who I was with had an interesting idea, another way to make the traffic world understandable. That could even still work, I think, one day.

It's funny: I cannot remember where I saw it, I think it was in a trade publication, around 1990 or '91. There was a joke one-page promotional ad for an LA radio station: ALL TRAFFIC, ALL THE TIME.

The idea was that you would have DJ's or hosts on the air in studio, giving you constantly updated traffic with their own twists. "The Great Pandini" was a guy who would hypnotize you while driving; another guy who's name I can't remember would play driving music to make your commute go faster, like stuff from the James Bond movies.

My favorite was the guy who would broadcast live, every day from a car. And a lucky motorist might get a huge rubber arrow stuck to their ride as they traveled about: this was the DRIVE-BY SHOOTING OF THE DAY.

Now, that probably would not fly in LA, or anyplace else for that matter. But it was funny.

Back then, we didn't have Internet, but for a very few clued in tech geeks. Cell phones were not a big thing for everyone, nor pagers. That would have been a very big challenge to do something like that.

All traffic would not work on a terrestrial radio station, but it sounds like it would be fun. I believe in Tokyo there is a low-power AM station that just does traffic, but I don't recall details. Stuff I learned while researching one of my books.

Bandwidth on satellite radio makes it easy to allocate space for Sirius/XM to do traffic channels, though the mashing of them together, post merger I wonder about.

Now how about the traffic world? Tango is out in Chester County, which is just to the west of Philadelphia. The warehouse they are in is a temporary location, and they'll move to a new place soon. Jim Battagliese, my former XM boss and one of the gurus of the changing face of traffic reporting likes to tell the story of his first company operating out of his house in Philly. The whole house, from attic to basemen was the traffic center. Think about that.

This is not unusual, not at all. Now, I have to tell where I was the other day.

Without naming names, I had an interview in Maryland at a company that has been around a long while. I wasn't sure what to expect...I didn't expect this:

A fairly active city site, floors up in a big building. You'd think this is gonna be slick, right, professional, all that?

WRONG.

The only parking was in an expensive garage next door. I then had to go through levels of madness to get into the building, show my ID, jump through hoops and then take an express elevator.

I got to the big glass door. It is locked. At 11 am.

It is dark. No receptionist. No lights on, apart from a screensaver showing all the stations they do traffic and stuff for.

The man who would have become my boss arrived after me. I waited while he did whatever he had to do to get ready for me. Quiet...deathly quiet.

I was taken on a tour of a dark, poorly lit level of Hell that only Dante could imagine. There is a horror movie to be shot here.

This huge floor was a dead zone. Lights off, cubicles that looked like from a time capsule. It seemed all the occupants got up and left things as they were, like they were going to come back. And they vanished. 

Everywhere I turned, there were places where people once worked, but no more. I saw at one corner nearly three dozen computer towers stacked on the floor like coffins.

The man I spoke with was very nice. He tried to put the best spin on things, consolidation of people down here, this, that, other. 

There was one person working in a tiny studio in one corner. Another way down the hall in another studio. The traffic center looked like an air traffic control center from the 50's or 60's. Three people there. Now it was not drive time, to be fair, but this was surreal.

I have never seen anything like this in my life. If this is how it runs, then fine, I've been in crazy places too. But this...I thought of Luigi Pirandello's plays and the interplay of ongoing behavior that leads all to think the rest of the universe is insane, but you are not.

Or is it you that is mad?

Escape from the time capsule led me home, and Tango's offer was waiting. So there you have that.

Honestly...would I have worked for the other? If that was the only offer, yes. What choice have I?

Change again, this is what has come about. I will have to move, after 14 years in York, 13 in the same place. There are things I will miss, but much I cannot miss.

The sameness. I have written and spoken of the feeling that this part of the world fears change more than most, and refuses to do so. A colleague likes to say this part of the world "still thinks Kennedy is president."

They live in 1962, Camelot, JFK and Jackie, Reds under every bed, the Cubans are coming to destroy us, and what do those "Negroes" want, anyway?

They didn't know from gay people. Of course where I move, is that any different? At least I am close to Philly, so that will be a change.

I have to move, and I do not like that. Moving is a horrific prospect, and I will have a company do it while I can still afford it. Trying to find a place, going through all that again, relearning my surroundings, and navigating a big city...

...you get used to knowing where stuff is, and I imagine "here" will fade away, as it does for most people. You go somewhere, where's everyone else, right?

The 'net lets us all stay sort of in touch, so wherever I go I know I'll be sure to hear/see about what everyone else is doing. The next chapter in the great adventure, right?

So what does that mean for other things?

I do not know at this point for a lot of it. I don't have a clue.

As for the writing, it goes on. I have to do a couple of readings of "Parasite Girls" in the near future here, and I'll find other spots to do them. I know I have to do them, and yet I am rather worried about trying this method. It bothers me, but I also know (back to the changing landscape) I have to engage the public.

Got a letter today from Barnes & Noble, regarding my wish to get "Parasite Girls" on the shelves. They just don't have the space for self-published books, and I get that. Worth a try.

They said they noted that most self-published authors only sell "about 100 copies." Well, thanks for that bit of lovely news, I'm soooooo encouraged!

But they are right, I guess. So what is my writing going to do? Apart from being therapy, and a hobby? I still plan to keep on writing. I pretty much do not see myself ever getting a publishing deal, but I think a lot of that has to also do with building a body of work, and I am just getting started. I hope to live long enough to see it really happen. But again, I must engage.

"Parasite Girls," well it's too soon to tell how it is going to be received, but I've gotten some nice comments. For that I am thankful, and I'm going to keep at it.

What's next...oh...lots of things, but what will be next? I do not know for sure at this point.

www.behance.net/torygates is my online site for numerous things. There, you will find rough cuts and openers. Two or three possibilities are right there. 

So I'm probably going to give out more copies of "PG" than I sell, but that's how it goes. 

The thing that is important to impart on you: my painter friend Sunny said over 20 years ago when I expressed doubt: just do it.

Not the Nike way, but the way each of us have. There you are.

So, hopefully I will have time to blog again in the near future and tell you how this new venture goes. And how everything else goes...time to move on because I feel my years are slowly getting away from me. Every day I have is one to make something happen, something more. 

Warren Zevon had an interesting take when he faced cancer, and the final days of his life: "Enjoy Every Sandwich."

I think he found a sense of place. Lou Reed did as well...his wife Laurie Anderson wrote that right to the end, Lou's sense of wonder at the world didn't go away. He lived to the end.

We gotta just do it.

Peace, Out.

"Take Another Road," Chapter 4

Here we go with Chapter 4 of "Take Another Road."  Hope you enjoy it...

Chapter 4--Minoru’s Ligeia

            “There is no point, among the many incomprehensible anomalies of the science of mind, more thrillingly exciting than the fact--never, I believe, noticed in the schools--that in our endeavors to recall to memory something long forgotten, we often find ourselves upon the very verge of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember.”

--“Ligeia,” Edgar Allan Poe

            A stringed arrangement played over Minoru’s stereo at a high volume as he stood in his bathroom.  Just out of the bath, a towel wrapped around his waist, Minoru used a second one to dry his hair.  Through the small window, now partially obscured by steam, he noticed night had begun to fall.  He would soon head over to Asuka’s, to play at the family’s dinner party.

            Minoru enjoyed performing, and it was one of those few things he realized that offered him release.  He carefully brushed out his hair, ensured the careless nature of his thick tresses, then stepped into the next room. 

            The apartment was small; Minoru’s creature comforts were not many, but they suited his needs:  the futon was well-built, but inexpensive, the wall-to-wall carpeting cheap and looked like it had been taken up from someone’s office.  The dresser was secondhand, as were the TV, stereo, and the lone easy chair.  He also had a small kitchen, though cooking was not something Minoru indulged in that often.

            Dressing in black jeans, a matching shirt and leather vest, Minoru cast his eyes on the silver picture frame to his right:  the photo was of a woman, perhaps in her early thirties.  She was not the most attractive of the Japanese lovelies; she had a plain, honest-looking face, but her warm smile more than made up for that.

            Minoru smiled back at her as adjusted his belt.  He was happy to have met the new people; even better was to see Aimi again, and meet her family.  Kaldera of course had been the catalyst for all of it, as he had been for Kaz.  I know that some people, Mother would not be pleased with my associations; but I am quite certain you would not disapprove, as you moved above your station, and did so with honor.  I only hope I can carry myself as you did.

            When I met Kaz, I knew I’d met a true friend right away.  He has become my sidekick, the unnamed narrator to my Dupin as it were, from Poe’s mysteries.  I certainly did not plan that, for I see him as my equal.  He is talented, and he is such an honest and decent fellow.  Two people of such different circumstances and backgrounds, in the same, strange city--that sounds foolish, but it isn’t.  It happens every day, and I am so pleased to know we get along.

            Kaldera is another; a gaijin, yes, but a man who’s been many places, seen many things and he continues to find his way, wherever he is in the world.  The music we make together is wondrous, and I hope for more.

            I also hope for Asuka--I was able to persuade her to let me bring her to Masuyo today; she too, needs to see more than what she has.  It’s not her doing, but I wish to help her, if I can.  I do love her dearly, as dearly as I loved you, Mother.  Wish me well on this quest, as you have all others.

            The CD player switched to a new track, a jarring blast of horns, drums and guitars.  A drum kick, and Minoru found himself moving quickly to its punk-like cadence as he checked for all he’d need tonight.

“These are the stories of Edgar Allen Poe

Not exactly the boy next door

He’ll tell you tales of horror, and he’ll play with your mind

If you haven’t heard of him, you must be dead or blind…”

            Minoru slid into his long, black coat, and slung his shamisen over his shoulder.  He checked his wallet and Metro pass, switched off the stereo and the lights, and was out the door, as the song still played in his mind.

“These are the stories of Edgar Allen Poe

Not exactly the boy next door!”

            The atmosphere at the Okuda home was a convivial one, as all crowded themselves around the living room table for dinner.  The meal was a simple one, augmented by a bottle of sake that Kaldera brought as his offering, plus a basket of daifuku, the rice cake pastry a homemade gift from Mei.

            Aimi looked around the crowded table as her family and the guests ate their fill.  It was a fun evening, with family and friends, Aimi thought; as her father often said, it didn’t take much to have a good time.  The topics of discussion flew fast, with school, exams, the trip no one seemed to be taking, and other matters talked of.  Before long, Kaldera and Kaz brought out their guitars, and the music went into the evening.

            Kaldera was pleased to learn that the Okudas would be at the club Saturday night.  Kaz indicated he would go, his parents not having said he couldn’t.  Aimi wondered if he had even seen his folks today. 

            Mei added, “Midori’s coming, and her folks, too.  They’re up for it.”  Midori’s adoptive parents were Japanese; they lived in a slightly more upscale neighborhood (something Mei didn’t seem to mind, in that case), and they were a young, outgoing couple that all knew from school meetings and events.

            “Mei, how about your mom?”  Kaz asked.  “Think she’ll be able to come out?”

            Mei shrugged.  “I dunno.  It’s day-to-day with her, but I’ll see.  Today was a rough one; she was in bed for most of it.  She did say I should go have some fun.”

            Aimi turned to Kaldera.  “So, tell us about this band.”

            Kaldera chuckled.  “Well, they’re all Japanese; younger people, and all in other groups.  This is a side project for them; I just like working in with others, and they have all picked up on what I do.  Most of the music is from other writers, people I’ve worked with over the years, but I do a few of my own songs, too.”

            “Such as?”  Kaz nudged Kaldera with his elbow, drawing laughter. 

            “Okay, I suppose that means I’m on.”  Moving to the couch, Kaldera took up his guitar and placed a capo on the fourth fret, while everyone took up the two chairs or spots on the floor.  Kaz sat beside him, and made a quick check to ensure his guitar was tuned. 

            “I play this guitar in D,” Kaldera explained, “mostly for a certain song.  But I move up for this one.”  Playing a quiet opening lick, he explained, “I wrote this one recently, and I may do it tomorrow.” 

            Kaldera began to fingerpick; the chords were simple, but to the others, he’d begun a journey, and all were rapt in attention.

“I’m feeling not myself

Outside of me

& I am not sure

What I’m to be

They say we are vessels

Some hold, or let out

Believe I’m the latter

For the things I’m about…”  

            Kaldera began to strum the chords, his voice taking on a low, ragged tone.  The words were introspective, and Aimi felt he was letting some of himself go before them.  It was a rare thing.

“Sail my vessel

Across the waves

Through space and time

& all my days

& I will find

That which is mine

& the place

They call the universe…”

            Everyone was nodding in appreciation; Aimi and the rest were caught up in the song, and all applauded its end.  Kaldera nodded his thanks, but looked at the floor, a strange expression on his face.  At length he spoke:  “That song says much about my life, the past, present and future.  I wrote it recently, and perhaps it has to do with my sailboat.  I find my work in getting it ready to go to sea is really just part of my mission.  I at this point in my life believe that my music, and what else I do to bring people together, is my vessel.  I don’t mean to sound melodramatic, but we are all vessels.  This is just how I do it.”

            All seemed to understand, which Kaldera appreciated.  “Actually,” he said, “that’s another thing:  Kaz will back me up when I say that the boat is nearly ready to go; I was hoping some of you would be interested in a trip, perhaps to one of the islands.  It’d be good for me to be among friends, but it would be beneficial to all.”
            ‘Nuh-uh,” Mei said, holding up her hand, “but thanks.  I get seasick if I even set foot on a dock.”

            Everyone laughed.  “Understood,” Kaldera replied, “but you are always welcome, Mei.  I live above the boathouse where I’m moored.  It’s large enough to accommodate a crowd, and no one bothers me there.”

            Aimi voiced her agreement, and her parents were satisfied.  “I’ll have more details next week,” Kaldera said, “but I am aware you have exams.  I’ll make sure it’s done after all that.”

            He then removed the capo from his guitar.  “If you don’t mind,” he went on, “here’s one a friend of mine did.  I’ve always loved it, and I’ll do it Saturday.  You know this one, Kaz.” 

            Kaz knew right away what song Kaldera had in mind, and set his hands in place on his guitar.  A series of accented chords, and they were off.

“Nobody left unbroken

Nobody left unscarred

Nobody here is talking

That’s just the way things are…”

            There were just three chords in the song, and the lower tuning of Kaldera’s guitar made it sound very different.  Aimi could not contain her smile; Kaldera was letting himself go, and in such an unselfconscious way.

“Sister lost soul, brother lost soul

I need you…”

            Asuka stepped into her bedroom and turned up the faded lights.  The room, much like each in the Tanaka home was done with her mother’s eye, with alterations for Asuka’s preferences.  The walls were papered in dark burgundy and overlaid with Lotus Flower patterns, the carpet in white.  Her bed (not the traditional futon or platform style, but one fully off the floor) was queen sized, with tall brass frames and burgundy falls.  Her dressers were of fine, dark mahogany; in the corner beside them were a crossed pair of field hockey sticks, and above these a school team’s picture, a pair of trophies on either side.  A small television and stereo were placed against the wall to face the bed, and a door led to a private bathroom.

            She slid out of her heels and cocktail dress, the latter a short, one-shoulder affair in black with silver accents.  Walking to the closet near the window, she put the shoes away, and lay the dress aside over a nearby chair for cleaning. 

            Reaching into the closet, Asuka drew out a pale green silk robe.  Putting it on, she walked into the bathroom and switched on the lights.  To the left was a large sink and mirror; to the right was a large tub, and she turned on the silver spigots to draw a bath.

            Facing the mirror, Asuka removed her hair clips and tossed them next to the sink.  As Asuka washed her face to clear it of makeup (though her use of it was minimal), she thought about the evening, and its confusing ending.

            This was not exactly a dinner party, more a meeting of Keru and the two aforementioned colleagues that were involved in the family’s food distribution company.  These gentlemen were about the same age as her father; one Asuka knew was a sales manager, the other the head of marketing.  The talk at the large dining table that night was mostly about the international pipeline of goods, and what was to be done in the current economy.

            The two suited men sat beside Keru at his end of the table, their wives alongside.  Asuka was seated beside one of the ladies, and Nanae occupied the place next to her, opposite her husband.  The meal was excellent (Nanae’s cooking had, this night as on all others earned high praise), and was served by three of the uniformed kitchen staff.

            The whole affair however was a drag for Asuka; all the talk was of business and Keru did most of it.  For her part, Nanae made certain Asuka was included in the conversation; but Asuka realized that she never understood much of her father’s business, yet this was something she would need to, as she grew older.

            Minoru arrived after dinner, and entertained all in the living room on his shamisen.  Seated near the fireplace (a real one, this time), he played for the assembled, and as always he was quite good.  He mostly stuck to traditional pieces, including one that was requested.  Keru was quite pleased, and Asuka noted her father even smiled during the performance, as he and the male guests smoked his favored Altadis Corona cigars.  One of the few things she knew that made him do so was certain music--the shamisen was his favorite instrument (though he did not play himself), and Keru also admired certain classical composers. 

            Asuka watched and listened to Minoru as he played.  He was so focused when he played, yet his visage never changed; it remained calm, even through the most difficult of pieces.  He received a well-deserved round of applause afterwards.

            On the deck outside, things changed.  After packing his instrument away Minoru had stepped outside with Asuka.  The evening was cool but not chilly, and Asuka stood with him as they admired the night sky.

            After praising him for his performance, Asuka moved close to him and placed her arm around his waist.  This made Minoru smile and he asked, “Have I improved over the last time, Asuka?”

            Asuka smiled.  “Of course you have,” she replied.  “You get better each time I hear you, and Father seemed quite happy.”

            “Well, everyone did seem to enjoy it,” Minoru said, and he looked away again.  “I appreciate Keru’s interest in my music, in fact everyone’s.  I--” 

            He was about to continue when Asuka slid in front of him.  She leaned back against the ornate metal railing, and moved her hands up to Minoru’s face.  Before she could go further, Minoru took a step back.

            “What’s wrong?”  Asuka straightened up, and as she did Minoru placed his hands on her bare arms, more protective of himself than in affection towards her.

            “Wait.”  Minoru looked behind him slowly; there was no one in the hallway or the living room.  He then turned back. 

            “Asuka,” he began, “I’m sorry.  I don’t think this is the place for what you wish.  If your father should see, I think he would be angry.”

            Asuka shook her head.  “I don’t believe that,” she replied.  Actually, she thought Keru might be, but at this point she would accept anything her father might view.  “Minoru,” she began again, “I think you know how I feel for you.”

            “I do, and I’m honored by that, but…” Minoru could not finish, and Asuka saw an emotion she had never seen in him—fear.       

            “What is it?”  She asked.  “Minoru, what is wrong?”

            Minoru took Asuka in his arms, and looked into her eyes.  “Asuka, you are my dearest friend,” he said quietly, “and I do love you--but as a friend.  I am afraid--yes, I am afraid of ruining that friendship.  What we have--that means more than anything right now in my life.”

            Asuka nodded, but beyond Minoru’s words she was excite--by the feeling of his arms, his body so close to hers.  She tried to listen; but in looking at him, Asuka knew there was more that Minoru was not giving away. 

            “I understand,” she told him, “but nothing you could do would ever harm that.”

            “I suppose not.”  Minoru kissed her cheek, and added, “I just don’t think this is the right time or place, I’m really sorry.”  He turned to head back inside.  “I have to go.”

            The other guests were just getting into their coats to leave, and Asuka joined her parents in seeing all out and wishing them a good night.  This done, Asuka wished Keru and Nanae the same and went upstairs.

            The bath was ready, the tub nearly full, and Asuka shut off the water.  Before disrobing, she went back into the bedroom and stood at the window.  Peering through the curtains, she looked into the night and wondered about Minoru.  Something was wrong, and she wondered what it could be.

###

(Author's notes:

"Edgar Allan Poe" was written and recorded by Lou Reed, and appears on The Raven, 2003.

"Sail My Vessel" was written by me.  It has not been recorded.

"Sister Lost Soul" was written by Alejandro Escovedo and Chuck Prophet, and appears on A.E.'s Real Animal, 2008.