The dusty road of progress

I'm being held to a pretty enterprising promise. Prompted by my performance this past Sunday (which, incidentally, went well, I think, based on more requests for where to buy my CDs and how to get onto my non-existant e-mailing list), John made me vow the other day that I'd have a CD, a website, a mailing list, and promotional stickers ready to go before my next NY Songwriters gig. Bastard.

Not wanting to fall prey to his ridicule, I'm on it. I was in Brooklyn today, meeting with a guy who has a home recording studio. We talked for a good while, sharing personal philosophies on music and performance, life stories, etc., and I feel confident in saying that I think I've found myself a recording producer. Next Tuesday will be our first official recording session, I'm happy to report. He had me play a couple of songs for him, and he seems to like what I do, so it's a date. On top of the recording, he's also agreed to help me choose songs for the first CD, as well as give me a hand with setting up the web things. So anyway, yeah, that seems to be under way.

In addition, I've been in contact with a photographer who works with musicians, and he's given me a pretty good quote on a two-hour shoot. This way, I can have decent pictures for promo material and CD covers. Holy hell... am I really doing all this? Can I afford all this? Doesn't matter. I'm not chickening out now. And believe me, I think about backing out on a five-minute basis. I have't done a photo shoot since... God... high school, back when I was kind of attractive or whatever. Now I'm chubby and painfully ordinary, and I'm doing a photo shoot for my promotional material. Gee... I can't wait to see a bunch of pictures of myself that I absolutely hate and look fat in. And I'm not being modest, either. I mean, I'm pretty pudgy in person, but in photograph version, I'm especially rotund. But hey... it's gotta be done, eh? I mean, I'd rather it didn't, but I gotta. Crap. And hey... maybe this will result in some sort of chubby girl cult following. Fat girls of the world unite, or whatever. Ugh... that's wretched. But who's to say? A chubby following is better than none, yes?

I have to keep writing. I need new things, new material, new stories to tell. I can't get boring. I can't stop the wheel now, not after I've turned it this far already. And I have a guy who wants to lay down tracks for me and help me get out there. Do I have an audience? Probably not. That's not the point, though. I gotta do this. 50 Cent has it right... get rich or die tryin'... I mean, you die anyway, but getting rich would be nice. I just want to get out there and do this. I can't remember a day in my life that I haven't been ravenously hungry for this. PhD or no, this is my calling. The PhD is fringe. Is that so wrong, though? I mean, so what if I want to be a scientist on top of everything? Damn the conventionalist rationale that I ought to be grounded in singular goals. How's this for singular goals... I want to be a rock star. Look at the PhD as an elaborate hobby. If anyone has a problem with that, you're more than welcome to come to New York and try to talk some sense into me. Till then, I'll let you struggle with the fact that you can't come up here because you have too many obligations keeping you from getting on the plane. Case in point: they didn't stop me, and here I am. I deal with that every day, but I don't regret it. As for the husband I left at home? He's made me promise to get my first CD out there by the next gig. That's right... he's on my team. Just knowing that convinces me that I can't possibly be stopped. Then again, anyone's welcome to try to prove me wrong. Honest... I'll be waiting.