So I've got this friend. He's a budding singer/songwriter, and he moved out to LA a little while ago to try and make a name for himself.  He's a super talented guy, but he doesn't have a web site or myspace page yet (we're working on it), so I told him if he sent me a track I'd be more than happy to post it on my blog, and solicit some honest feedback from my readers.

The track he sent is called 'Flyin' High'. It's from a forth-coming EP of the same name. He actually submitted it to the American Idol songwriting competition last season, and it was in the top 10. So. He's gonna go places. Take a listen, and let me know what you think. And be honest, you know? He's trying to improve, so any comments or criticisms will be welcomed.  Enjoy, and have a great weekend! -d

Title: Flyin' High
Artist: MGU
Album: Flyin' High EP
Time: 3:24

i wasn't kidding. it really does look like mount saint helens is exploding on the other side of the valley. -d

UPDATE: another much better time lapse of the fires. (thanks roomie)

we've all been there.  you're in the car, you just heard a great song on the radio by one of your favorite bands, and all of sudden the dj comes back on and announces that they're giving away tickets to the first five callers.  for a split second you flail about madly in search of your phone.  but ultimately you think better of it, under the rationale that the slim chances of you beating out tens of thousands of other listeners to nab one of five pairs of tickets just aren't worth the risk of probably driving into oncoming traffic while you frantically try to pair your phone and bluetooth.  well turns out sometimes it is worth it.  a few weeks ago i was careening laterally across the 405 somewhere near the 10 interchange in an effort to win some tickets from KCRW.  it was for a new festival called Wanderlust that was taking place at lake tahoe, and the combination of lineup and location somehow struck me as worth the risk of death. but fate was smiling upon me that day, and not only did i not get into OR cause any fatal accidents, but i got through, won the tickets AND made it to rehearsal on time. those are good days.

and that was just the start of it!  a few fridays later, i found myself in the car with wendy, heading up into the sierras towards tahoe and a weekend of wonder.

for starters, if you've never taken the 395 route up to tahoe or reno, you really ought to do the last 2/5ths of it at least once. (the first 3/5ths, from the valley to bishop, are forgettable if you're lucky. except lancaster. which has a very family friendly in 'n' out.) but the last part really is a smashing drive. full of snow capped mountains to view and cool lakes to swim in. (if you're like us, you'll start feeling the urge to swim right around mono lake, which we found out later is the only alkaline lake in the state. fortunately we didn't indulge our baser instincts, and instead swam in a river that fed into the lake.) we happened to hit a particularly beautiful stretch called monitor pass just as the sun was setting. the orange light illuminated the smoke from a wildfire that was burning on the other side of the valley, which made for an incredible (and incredibly distracting) ascent up into the pass. after once again avoiding any serious collisions, we arrived in markleeville, ca a short while later. my cousin is spending the summer in a cabin there with his wife and was gracious enough to put us up for a few nights. it was lovely. and the only thing more spectacular than the homemade grilled cheese and tomato soup they served us, was the night sky. i haven't seen stars like that in years. maybe ever. endless stars. you could see the milky way before your eyes even adjusted.  if i had learned anything from old jack's stargazers club back at the ohs planetarium (other than a distaste for non-dunkin donuts and an abiding love of led zeppelin), i would have been able to clearly identify every single constellation in the summer sky.  nothing like it.  slept well.

next morning we headed up to the squaw valley resort, where the festival was held. a quick note on wanderlust: it's a music and yoga festival.  there were yoga classes from 6am to noon, then music from noon to 8pm. the passes i got from kcrw were for the music part only, which we were fine with. and given the lineup of bands, we assumed that most people would be attending primarily for the music. we were all kinds of wrong. these people were yoga people. the music was clearly an afterthought, as evidenced by the number of people at the concert stage 10 minutes before the first band went on (PIC). seriously, there were 11 people there, including us. which, again, we were fine with. oh, and a quick note on the stage: doesn't it rule? it was 9000 feet up at the base of a ski slope. we had to take a 15 minute gondola ride to get up to it. the stage was set up at the bottom of a bowl, which created a natural amphitheater. so people just filled in up the slope. here's another PIC. you can't really see it, but right behind the stage, about 20 steps away, there was a lake that you could swim in if you got toasty. so we'd watch a set, then while the next band was setting up, we cruise down to the lake and go for an icy dip.  it was great.  they'd also set up a little village of booths up there, including a giant canvas dome, wherein you could doodle on chairs and silkscreen tshirts, and whereupon you could paint anything your heart desired. (naturally the goatmasters left their mark.) a rather unique experience all around. (for further proof, please enjoy this video, in which wendy tries to not get caught filming crazy hula hoop lady.)

oh, and the music was pretty good too. here are the bands we saw, in order of awesomeness:

1. gillian welch. sweet sweet gill. she and her david rawlings buddy knocked it out of the park.  best part: she, david and jenny lewis did an a cappella version of 'go to sleep little baby' from 'o brother' (VID).
2. andrew bird. all of his equipment had gotten lost in transit. he had to borrow instruments and gear from other bands, and was clearly thrown a bit off his game in the shuffle. and yet he was still better than almost everybody there. best part: watching a bunch of crazy stoned hippies so transfixed by his music that all they could do was drop their hula hoops and stand in stunned silence.
3. jenny lewis. i'm not a huge fan of her music, but she and her band were so energetic and everybody was so into them that it was impossible to not have fun. best part: she, david and gillian welch did an a cappella version of 'go to sleep little baby' from 'o brother' (VID)
4. kaki king. just a strong live show. and that amazing slap guitar thing she does is even cooler and more amazing in person.  best part: that amazing slap guitar thing she does.
5. tie: broken social scene/rogue wave/spoon.  all pretty big bands.  all did pretty much exactly what we expected them to do. played their bigs songs. the same way they sound on their albums. enjoyable but not exceptional. best part: when we went swimming in the lake after broken social scene.
6. common. in the strangest lineup substitution ever, he came in last minute to replace michael franti and spearhead when franti came down w/ appendicitis.  not sure who decided that a huge hip hop star would make a good replacement for a treehugging reggae act...but it seemed to work. the crowd full of white hippies were either really enjoying themselves or so scared of appearing nonsupportive of an african american performer that they totally overcompensated. either way, it was crazy. the only reason he didn't score higher on the list was because about 4 songs in, he started scouring the crowd for attractive "of age" girls to bring on stage and sing to. he settled on a 19-year-old. it was awkward. we left. best part: when he passed on the 18-year-old and told her to come back next year.

we drove back to markleeville sunday night. drove home monday morning, stopping at some lovely hot springs outside of bridgeport to soak alongside a large and friendly naked man in the mercifully murky water.  unfortunately he soon decided the water was too hot, and consequently spent the rest of the time hanging around in the decidedly less merciful fresh air.  but it had been far too nice a weekend for our friendly nudist to be anything other than a funny little footnote. tahoe was stunning. the music, excellent. the company, second to none. so, who's up for next year? -d

PS. there's a little playlist of some wanderlust tunes for you hiding behind that grey tab at the bottom left of the page there for you to enjoy.

congrats to sniar nire for nabbing the last UYT.  (the answer was massachusetts.)  here's todays:

also, here's a cool video from an israeli singer who i've seen a few times on the hotel cafe circuit, and actually gotten to know a little bit.  cool guy and a real creative video. -d

once upon a time, there were 2 roommates.  they were nice simple guys.  but at this certain moment in time, they were both feeling the effects of recent, respective and bitter breakups, and both were pretty low.  one afternoon, each happened to find the other at home, and in lieu of watching 'mean girls' again, they instead decided to take their sadness and do something productive with it.  they had some ideas.  a poem.  a song.  a one-act play maybe.  or an interpretive dance.  ultimately, a dark basement, the gloomy utah winter and the lethargy of depression had their way, and the guys settled on just making a breakup mix.  (certainly they weren't the first to feel this way, they reasoned, so why waste all the time writing a song about it when whitesnake beat them to punch, and did so with such effortless buttrock majesty?  it wasn't a question of talent.  it was a question of efficiency.)  so they booted up the imac and opened up itunes.  as they did, they silently agreed to throw out all their preconceptions about music that, up to that point, they might have publicly deemed 'lame' or 'pandering' or 'unlistenable', thus opening themselves up to any song -- regardless of quality -- that might soothe the smart.  they called the result 'girls suck':

*track 1 has many swears. rough times, rough lyrics.

clearly they were both hurting.  and as they sat and listened and fumed, they couldn't help but feel solace in the fact that brandy, puddle of mud and the corrs had also clearly been hurt.  but as the playlist ended and began to play through for a second time, the friends found their mood had shifted.  gone was the rage, the loathing, the feeling of victimization.  in its place, pity.  that nagging feeling that maybe they weren't worth holding on to after all.  that maybe the rancid she-wolves were right all along.  they considered changing the playlist.  but to alter their original music choices would have invalidated the feelings that had inspired them.  so they made another one.  this one they called 'we suck':        

the playlists were burned to discs, with enough copies made to cover car stereos, computers, personal media devices, and any other place they might be needed. and eventually, they worked, and the guys moved on.

cut to 4 years later.  the 2 roommates had indeed moved on: new girls, new states, new lives.  but they still lived only a few hours from one another, and enjoyed the odd weekend adventure.  but despite their proximity, their lives had taken different turns.  the first lead a charmed life: happily married to a great girl, working towards a doctorate and a successful career.  the second, however, despite a change in circumstances, found himself in much the same situation as he had 4 years earlier: newly single, and aching to get out of the rut.  he'd thought about making himself another breakup mix.  but something about the notion of having to do it by himself this time made the whole exercise feel like just another hit to his pride, something he decided he could do without.  but as good friends often do, his old roommate took notice.  and together with his wife, he compiled a new playlist for his friend.  a folk mix, it sounded nothing like their original breakup mixes had.  it was far less dramatic, far less compromising, far less embarrassing.  it was actually good music.  and yet, it did the trick nicely: 

and it made him wonder.

cut to the present day.  the first roommate is expecting a kid, and the second roommate is moving on again.  and he'll be fine.  he even gleaned a nice little lesson from the parable of the breakup mix.  he learned that it really takes very little to sustain a peaceful life.  he doesn't need a steady roof over his head.  he doesn't need a job he likes.  he doesn't need to live someplace he loves.  he doesn't need things to go his way.  he doesn't need to feel useful or productive or successful.  and he doesn't really need any breakup music.  turns out he just needs people.  and not even that many people.  just a few good folks is all it takes.  and be they parents, siblings, co-workers, former bosses, goatmasters, roomies, wardies, fringers, choirlings or accordians, he's never felt a lack.  which, he supposes, would explain why he's still hanging around.  and why when those tough moments linger, as far gone as things might feel, so long as there's somebody to make the proverbial mix, it doesn't really matter if it's ben harper or elton john or cher.  he'll be fine.  -d

i like to think of myself as a pretty media-savvy person.  i can usually tell which movies will be good and which won't.  i can usually extricate myself from the watching of a show or the hearing of a song well enough to objectively experience it.  i'm certainly intelligent enough to never ever fall victim to the subtle suggestions of an advertising campaign.  and i'm clearly mature enough to know when to speak in absolutes and when not to.

the idea of potentially switching from a small company to a huge corporation isn't a terribly appealing one.  i'm pretty much my own boss right now.  i work when i need to, and nobody really cares when i come in, so long as i get my stuff done.  i have almost complete creative control over my work, with people rarely checking for more than typos before my programs go to air.  i get more free DVDs, soundtracks and screening passes than I'll ever use.  i wear shorts and flip flops to work, i come in sweaty and smelly, i park my bike in the middle of the hallway, i walk around the office barefoot, i take vacation days at a moment's notice, i've got all the red bull and soymilk i can drink and all the bagels and cold cuts i can eat, and i'll absolutely never ever get tired of working 4 blocks from the beach.  sure the paychecks are unreliable, but the tradeoffs are undeniable.

i was watching the discovery channel a few nights ago.  during the break between episodes of 'how it's made', that commercial came on again, and i remembered why it was that i'd started looking for a new job.  it's an embarrassing story i've held off on telling, but it's time.  last spring, i was sitting at the old largo with two uncles and a cousin, eating my "food" and bracing for the invariably awkward opening act before the 'watkins family hour' got going.  my cousin was choking down a chicken breast of some sort, and i was picking my way through some pesto disaster, when we got on the subject of our jobs.  he works for a publisher, and i explained that i was involved in the production of entertainment news shows.  and in an only 1/3-joking, smart-assy way that only family can get away with, he asked if i felt like i was making the world a better place -- a sore subject for any conscience-laden entertainment journalist.  i didn't bother defending myself, as neither of us were buying it.  so i made a quick crack about hocking overpriced textbooks to struggling college kids and changed the subject.  but while i hated the thought of validating his moral terditude, it did, in fact, get me thinking.

later that night, i was at home working on the computer with the discovery channel on in the background, and i saw that commercial for the first time.  and so long as i'm contradicting myself and validating my cousin, i might as well throw myself all the way under the bus: the ad choked me up.  a carefully crafted piece of corporate propaganda got to me in a big way.  and what's worse, it made me want to make a difference.  i bet Ghassan means cliche in arabic.  i mean, come on: somebody makes an offhand comment, i get to thinking, i see something specifically designed to move me, i am moved, and i decide to make a life change?  sick. 

and the worst part is, my aversion to my own cookie cutter sappiness actually kept me from acting on that feeling for nearly 3 months.

ultimately though, i had to choke down my own lame story.  and subsequently, as i started thinking about options, i also had to swallow my prohibitive skepticism of large corporations.  make no mistake - i still think they're mostly run by greedy crooks.  but i figure there's got to be somebody out there who's doing something good, doing it well, and getting paid well for it, right?  there's got to be a company somewhere who finds a way to answer to both shareholders and the greater good.  a company who manages to package a valuable, useful, uplifting, interesting product in such a way that people buy into it out of a simple desire to grow and learn and be enlightened.  a brand whose purpose it is to inspire people to get out and do and experiment and explore, and whose clout and influence reach far enough to achieve that purpose on a broad and sweeping scale.  and if within such a company there exist things like bureaucracy and politics and self-interest, they will be necessary evils, means to an important end.  over the course of my professional career, i doubt i'll be able to avoid all the things that i dislike about the corporate world.  but i figure if i'm going to have to put up with that stuff, i'm going to do it in a place where at the very least, i can be proud of that end.  i'd like to come home at the end of the day exhausted from my commute, frustrated with my boss, and generally just sick of work, and be able to flip on whatever channel i work for, and get a little choked up.  i think that would be just awesome.

so if anybody knows of any channels like that, i'd really like an interview.  -d

• please read this as fast as you can.  it's the only way it works.

just got back from another watkins family hour at the largo with my uncles todd and craig and my cousin broc.  it's the fourth time i've been to the watkins family hour, and i finally have to sit down and say something about it.  fyi, sean and sara watkins are two members of nickel creek, and occasionally at the largo in weho, they'll do this thing called the watkins family hour, where they bring in a bunch of their musician friends and play basically whatever they want for a few hours.  and every single time, it is a completely transcendent experience.  each time it's completely different, but every time i feel like i'm going to explode.  and tonight was especially good.  the group hasn't played together for months, and they were so pleased to be back together that an hour-long show turned into two and a half, and it was like everyone had finally come home.  the pianist, benmont tench (who plays w/ tom petty and the heartbreakers), who i've never heard say more than a sentence at any other show, was cracking jokes and playing goofy interludes between everything.  at one point, sara screwed up the ending of a song, and stamped her feet like a child until they redid it so she could get it right.  and their humanity made tonight all the more delightful, and all the more unbearable.  i usually have to console myself in the notion that only something superhuman could make a noise like that, and to see the humans behind the magic made it almost too much to take.  i still can't even wrap my brain around it.  it's a feeling halfway between my head and my heart, halfway between utmost respect and utter jealousy.  tonight they played everything from bob dylan to fats waller to michael nesmith, from rock to bluegrass to texas fiddle tunes, and i spent most of the time laughing just to keep myself from crying.  or screaming.  something.  i had to emote somehow or it would all just get boxed up inside me and eventually i'd just explode and die.  the last song of the main set was a towboating song that was, to my memory, the most complete concert experience of my life.  the musical equivalent of seeing 'richard II' at the globe.  it was so intense and rocking and funky and rooted and naked and raw and fresh and ancient that i spent the entire song with my head between my hands just to keep my brain from exploding out my ears.  after that i wanted them to stop.  i didn't want to ever get that noise out of my head.  then for the first encore, sara came out, rested her head on a yukele, and sang tom waits' 'pony' while greg leisz played a quiet pedal steel behind her.  and it was the same feeling all over again -- as deafening in its withholding as the towboating song had been in it's excess.  it's like this perfect equation where a deep-seeded love of music and years of practice meld together into a moment where they don't matter anymore.  where everything that is past and future about music doesn't make any difference because what happening at that moment is so real and immediate and fleeting that there's not enough space in the air for anything but now.  and yet without that past and future the now wouldn't matter either.  what a mess, what a mess.  sitting now at my computer, knowing i'll have to go without that noise for, at the very least, another week, possibly more, makes me want to exist in total silence till then.  and to share that with 3 other people who i love, and who love music completely differently and yet even more completely than i do just makes every other musical experience seem like white noise.  i went to the largo website to get the image i posted up there, and the page is still open in the background, and a 10 second loop of a jon brion song is playing over and over again, and that's what i expect all music to sound like for the next little while.  just the same thing over and over again.

i'm being dramatic.  i know tomorrow morning i'll wake up.  i'll put my headphones on as i hop on my bike.  a justin timberlake song will come on, and i'll cringe for a second.  then everything will be back to normal.  and it's probably better that way.  easier, anyway.  -d

ragnar: some norse king who tortured his subjects by making them run long distances at odd hours for no reason at all.  probably.

december.07, kent sends me an email asking if i'd be interested in joining a team for the 182 mile Ragnar Del Sol relay race across arizona.  he hits me right in the middle of my post-camino, how-am-i-gonna-stay-in-shape-now phase, and i commit immediately.  then i hear nothing for the next 2 1/2 months.  during that time, i train pretty regularly, but not very hard.  in my mind, i guess i assume it's not going to happen.  but in the off chance that it's going to, i don't want to die.  it's also during that time that i make a (very brief) return to the thursday night ultimate frisbee games at the LA1 building.  i can't remember why i went.  i think it was just time.  either way, i go, but i forget to put my orthotics in my cleats.  (for all you 'archies' out there, orthotics are fiberglass insoles that 'flatfoots' like me have to wear for support.)  but i play anyway, and it's great.  me and my buddy jeff even come up with a new catch-all word: goat.  (moron that later.)  anyways, after all the stopping and starting involved in frisbee, i expect my legs to be sore the next day, and they don't disappoint.  but more than anything, my feet hurt.  so i cut the mileage on my running for a few days.  nothing.  still hurts.  a month passes, and running becomes increasingly painful.  so i suck it up and head to a podiatrist, who: a) tells me i have the worst-made pair of orthotics she's ever seen, and b) teaches me how to tape my feet so i can run on them w/o pain.  that appointment takes place 3 days before we are supposed to go to arizona, at which point i still haven't heard anything from kent.  and i'm actually glad.  the thought of running 18 miles across the desert with seriously sore feet doesn't sound like a nice weekend.  naturally, the emails from kent start the next day.  it's on.  so i do a couple test runs with the taped feet, and it works like a charm.

530.am/friday.  we meet at kent's house and make the 5 hour trek out to the starting line in wickenburg arizona.  the race works like this:  our 12 person team is divided up into two 6-person vans, with each person responsible for running 3 legs, averaging 5 or 6 miles each leg.  the first vanfull of 6 run their legs while the other team rests/eats/sleeps/relaxes.  i'm in van 1, position 3.  we only miss our starting time by 10 minutes, and karl, van 1 position 1, grabs his gear and starts running.  the rest of us in van 1 drive past him, stopping and getting out periodically during his leg to cheer him on.  then we drive ahead to the first exchange, where zach, v1p2, waits his turn.  karl runs up to the exchange and gives zach the baton -- a slap bracelet (brilliantly) -- and zach takes off, while the race officials jot down our team number.  and on and on. 

230.pm/friday.  my first leg, a 5.9 mile gradual hill along the side of a two-lane highway, doesn't look too bad, and with my feet taped, i'm feeling pretty confident.  about half a mile into my leg, the confidence is gone.  i go out harder than i ought to.  i've got the worst case of cottonmouth i've ever had.  it's about 85 or 90 degrees, and so dry that it doesn't even feel like i'm sweating.  feeling completely dehydrated, i start cramping and i start slowing down.  (a bad omen 1 mile into my first leg.)  and my van is nowhere to be found.  (by the next leg, we have decided the van should stop every mile for support, moral and otherwise.  but not yet.)  so finally, i suck it up and flag down some other team's support van and ask for a bottle of water.  and as is the case with everyone we meet there, they bend over backwards to help.  (which in this case meant a very nice young lady nearly getting hit by a very large car to get me my bottle of water.)  the rest of the leg is rough, but i manage.  confidence-wise, though, i'm pretty hashed. 

600.pm/friday.  us van 1 folks finish our first legs with only a small hitch.  van 2 doesn't make it to the exchange point between our last guy and their first, and to avoid having our last guy just sit and wait, i run the first bit of leg 7 until the other van can catches up.  (and strangely, that crazy, unstructured, unsupervised element of flexibility in the race is probably what i enjoy most about it.  with the exception of the exchange points, you really feel like you're just running out in the middle of nowhere with your buddies.) van 2 catches up, we make the switch and head off to scotsdale to find the hotel we've got booked for the night.  the plan is to get about 4 hours sleep while the other van runs legs 7-12. 

800.pm/friday.  it takes us an hour and a half to get to the hotel, then another 45 to get showered, grab some dinner and try and get some sleep.  we end up getting about 40 minutes of sleep before kent calls from the other van to say they've just started their last leg.  those lucky enough have fallen asleep at all wake up, and we stare at each other, unsure of why we're paying good money to put ourselves through this. 

1030.pm/friday.  time for the midnight runs -- which turn out to be the greatest thing ever.  but when we meet up with the other van, we notice something strange.  we (i) keep talking about the first set of legs in terms of 'yesterday' and 'last night', even though it is still friday, and the legs were only a few hours earlier.  it's the first sign of the general slide into absurdity that takes place over the rest of the race.  but at least we're laughing. 

1230.am/saturday.  the temperature is a cool 55F.  my leg is a 6.9 mile v-shaped run -- downhill for the first 3.5m, uphill for the last.  i drink a whole lot more before this leg, and make sure to run with gum in my mouth, and the first five miles are pure heaven.  one of those rare moments when you remember why it is you run.  i run with a reflective vest and a headlamp, which is my only source of light much of the time.  i'm running through the outskirts of the phoenix suburbs, and up until the final mile, i don't see another soul during my entire run.  except for karl, who is usually hiding in the shadows to freak me out and then give me water.

330.am/saturday.  our second set of legs end well, but we're all getting more and more tired, and less and less coherent.  the moments of remembering why it is we run are in the distant past.  we head back to the hotel.  nobody really showers.  nobody eats.  nobody stretches.  people just kind of drop somewhere between the door and the beds.  an hour later, the call comes. 

whoknows.am/saturday.  we pack up our stuff for the last time, stagger to the van and make our way to the exchange.  karl's legs are sore.  zach is dry heaving.  and i'm completely terrified for my last leg.  it's a 5.5 mile run with small mountain in the middle of it.  a mile up and then a mile down.  i've been looking at the map of it ever since we started, and i've completely psyched myself out.  it turns out to be a great run.  it's on a dirt trail out in the middle of the desert (a nice change from the asphalt and semi's).  and my team is amazing.  they've got water every half mile, they're yelling and screaming and hanging out of the van like maniacs.  they even play kanye's 'stronger' (our unofficial theme song) at full blast when things start getting hard.  the mountain turns out to be a hill.  tough, but not impossible.  and aside from a mild rolling of my ankle and a cruelly-placed incline right before the exchange, it was great.

230.pm/saturday.  we're at the finish line (a park in mesa, az).  van 2 has arrived, and we're waiting for our the last guy.  we see him in the distance.  he doesn't see us.  he gets lost in the parking lot before finding us.  we all start running together, and cross the finish line as a team as they announce our name.  they give us medals and take our picture.  we eat at cafe rio (not as good as i remember it).  we drive home.  we play retarded and wonderful games to keep our poor driver awake.

1000.pm/saturday.  we arrive back at kent's house -- 41 hours later.  we're exhausted.  we're in a great deal of pain.  and we're talking about doing another one.  -d

old news is a new series i'm starting to make my inability to post anything promptly seem intentional.

it's friday february 22nd, 4pm.  it's a typical friday afternoon at stc:  things have been calm all day, until about 2 hours before it's time to go.  then the blackberry starts buzzing off the table, 14 sales dvd's need to be in belize in 15 minutes, and the ceo of the company needs me to pick up his daughter from jujitsu class.  amid the chaos, i get an email from a friend of mine who runs a PR firm that represents some pretty high profile film composers.  it's an invitation:  he wants me to attend a pre-oscar champagne reception the following day, to honor the 2008 best original score and best original song oscar nominees.  now, before you get excited, i've been to these receptions before.  i went to an emmy one last year, and maybe 1/3 of the nominees actually showed up -- and none of the one's you've heard of.  (don't get me wrong, i'll never turn down free champagne.  but it doesn't mix well with disappointment.)  so i accept, skeptically, and take off in search of the "Sixth Sensei" martial arts & meditation dojo.

saturday morning is full and beautiful.  biking along the beach, scrubbing the bathroom, the perfect day.  afternoon rolls around, and i'm starting to feel those 'out of my league' butterflies i get pretty frequently around here.  so i grab my roommate's nice nikon, slip into something hollywood casual (button up, blazer, jeans, nice shoes and sunglasses), and with the help of 'michelle', find my way over to a private residence in beverly hills.  as i turn north onto west beverly, i see a line of mercedes, jaguars and other non-scions up ahead, waiting for a valet, so i know i'm close.  michelle concurs.  then people start getting out of their non-scions.  people in hats and ties.  people wearing nice dresses and jackets and lots and lots of black.  people dressed very much non-hollywood casual.  it would appear that an oscar champagne reception is different than an emmy champagne reception, and no one has told me.  suddenly pulling up to the valet in a dirty XA seems the least of my problems. 

i look at the clock.  i'm alarmingly punctual, so i do a 180 and head back down beverly into the shopping district, where i speed-walk past the locals, who glare.  (rich people are never in a hurry.)  i'm scanning both sides of the street for a clothing store -- something nice, but not too nice -- a banana republic at least, or maybe one of those vaguely classy menswear boutiques with a generic italian name like Giovanni's or Uberto's.  i turn a corner.  GAP.  okay.  i was hoping for slacks, but i guess chinos are black, too.  and so long as nobody asks me 'who are you wearing?' at the door, i should be fine.  in i go.  black pants, black belt -- easy.  but the shirt.  if i wear white, people will hand me their car keys.  any other color and no one will take mine.  so black it is.  i find the black shirt section, and of course they are all creased and pinned, and definitely not pret-à-porter.  luckily i am at that moment flanked by a mannequin who looks to be about my size, wearing a freshly steamed black shirt, which he gives me without a word. 

a smiley 50-something changing room lady senses my panic, and doesn't even offer a number.  everything fits fine (a GAP miracle), and i run out to pay.  when the GAPgirl starts to bag things, i tell her not to bother.  she smiles knowingly, as if in her career behind that register she'd frequently encountered my brand of confused oscar-fête-invitee who knows little enough about party social conventions to wear jeans to one, and little enough about fashion to go to GAP to fix it.  but as she starts to cut off the tags off the 60 dollar pants i only plan on wearing once, i realize she doesn't know my demographic as well as she thinks.  i stop her mid-snip and head back to the changing room.  the smiley older lady smiles too.  she also thinks she knows me.  i smile back.  i think she just might.  she gets me an extra bag from the front to hold my hollywood casuals and wishes me luck.  i rush back to my car and back to the party.  the valet lot is "full".  they tell me to park around the block.  they can shut up.  i love my scion.

i get inside the party, and my friend immediately takes me over to meet alan.  who turns out to be alan menken.  you know, composer of songs from 'beauty and the beast', 'little mermaid', 'aladdin', a childhood hero.  no big deal.  i act cool and take a picture.  then over comes michael giacchino (the incredibles, ratatouille).  then over comes alan's lyricist steven schwartz, followed by richard sherman (mary poppins, chitty chitty bang bang).  my friend mentions that i am looking at 50 years of disney music.  i start to sweat.  alan laughs and tells me i need a drink.  he's probably right.  i shake some hands, take some pictures, and head to the patio to air out.

on the way, i brush past marco beltrami (3:10 to yuma) and james newton-howard (everything and the kitchen sink).  they seem to be deep in conversation, so i only interrupt long enough to take a picture and reassure them that we'll chat later.

it's starting to rain, so the patio crowd has congealed under the awning.  i carefully back up behind a portly gentlemen (is there any other kind?) who i've been told is the agent for alberto iglesias, composer of 'the kite runner' score and basically everything pedro almodovar has ever done.  my plan goes perfectly, and the gentleman's port bumps into my aft.  i introduce myself, and he introduces me to alberto.  we start talking.  he says he's from northern spain.  we start talking in spanish.  his beautiful spanish wife joins in.  we start talking about the camino.  30 minutes later we are curtly interrupted by someone who claims to own the house we're in.  he's standing on a stage, trying to start a program of some kind.  i exchange cards w/ alberto, excuse myself in castellano and use my very professional-looking nikon to elbow my way up to the front row.

one by one the best song nominees take the stage to get their applause and their gift bag.  alan is genial.  the 'august rush' guys look terrified.  and the kids from 'once'...oh the kids from 'once'.  glen and marketa have just walked in the door when they are called up on stage.  marketa looks calm.  glen has his guitar slung over his shoulder.  yes, the guitar.  the lady next to me suggests that they sing.  i second.  and in a single motion that is both spontaneous and effortless, both gracious and pleased, the empty case hits the stage and he plucks the first notes of 'falling slowly'.  at one point during the song, me and the woman next to me look at each other and shake our heads.  her twinkly eyes and goofy grin quite clearly say, 'no way this is happening'.  i just giggle.  and later, as glen is wailing something about me still having time, i consider not returning my expensive new outfit, just to feel like somehow i've earned the experience.

none of the best original score composers bring any instruments.  it's still cool to see them all together though.  they come on one by one.  james.  michael.  marco.  alberto.  and then dario.  now, i should start this part by saying that the little composer-crush sported by the character i play on tv was initially contrived in part because me and my co-writer josh like his music a lot.  but mostly, we just thought it was funny.  but as we fed the joke by really digging into his music, we started to see what a truly talented guy he was.  and in all the interviews we ever heard, he was this soft-spoken, courteous guy who knew his music inside and out.  what better object for a network-wide crush?

dario deflects the compliments and the applause.  he just looks happy to be there.  the little ceremony ends, and after some pictures, he walks to an empty corner of the awning, turns around, leans against a pole and just takes it all in.  at the moment, he's the only composer not talking to anybody, so i figure now's my chance.  i stammer a bit.  i mean, what do you say to the guy who wrote 'pride and prejudice'?  so i congratulate him on the nomination, and tell him he should have won last year.  i tell him about the channel, and then, regrettably, i let slip that he's the object of our little obsession.  as soon as it's out i get awkward.  but he just laughs and says something about 'pride and prejudice' probably not being the finest piece of music ever written, contrary to what i have probably just told him.  i laugh too.  and from then on, it's just friends chatting.  i ask him about his upcoming projects.  i ask him about getting back into non-film classical music.  i ask him if he's planning on working with terry gilliam again.  you know, shooting the shoot.  and then, we're done.  we take a quick picture together.  we exchange cards.  and as i walk away, i hear the start of his next conversation.  it's with another guy with a camera.  the last thing i hear is the guy gushing about how dario totally should have won the oscar last year for 'pride and prejudice'.  dario laughs and i cringe.

i only hang around for a few minutes after that.  just long enough to fulfill my promise to james and marco, toss a 'tanks' and a hug to glen and marketa, and say a quick word to michael giacchino (whose score for 'ratatouille' really should have won the oscar this year -- but don't tell dario).  then i thank my friend, and head out the front door into a light drizzle.  the valet asks for my ticket.  i scowl imperceptibly and put on my sunglasses, making a mental note to return my party clothes to the GAP near my office first thing monday morning.  -d

ps.  here's the link to a hi-res gallery of photos from the evening.

it's been a very nice week:

- my pilgrims passport arrived from the 'american pilgrims on the camino' organization.  my pilgrims passport gets stamped at every little town along the way, and it gets me into all the hostels for free or cheap, gets me meals along the way for free/cheap, and gets me a free nights stay at the parador once i get to santiago de compostela, where i will also receive a certificate of completion called a compostela.

- i successfully fixed my first flat bike tire on the road.  which unfortunately also coincided with my first collision accident.  i was on the path near the marina, and my back tire hit something that gashed it open.  i mean, it was totally flat in 5 seconds.   so i pulled over to the side of the path to hop off and check it, and a road biker who wasn't paying attention slammed into me, full speed, and knocked me flat on the ground.  but the resulting soreness in the asphalt contact points (right hip, shoulder, knee) were nothing compared to the glory of knowing i can fix my bike all by lonesome.

- i saved $100 a year on car insurance just by telling my insurance company that i bike to work now.  the gift that keeps on giving.

- saw harry potter 5 and loved it.  spectacular.  the best yet.  these are my favorite characters.

- i had a salad with gigantic pieces of toasted goat cheese just to see if i was allergic to it like i am with cow cheese.  and i'm not.  huzzah!

- and this week, somebody gave me the idea that you guys might want to know which movies are coming out each weekend.  and that you might like to see some of the reviews that i write for soundtrack channel.  and though it's a truncated, poorly written example, here's the single stone.  (it's big, so be patient.)  -d