The Earnestness of Being Important

   I've discovered in myself and in the outside world, a certain level of relaxation with appointments among peers in general and musicians specifically.

   Yeah, I said it.  Take a mo' to reset your pacemaker, I know the above was probably a shock.  Get used to it, I spit the ugly truth.

   But seriously folks, what is so hard about arriving on time?  Nay, arriving at all?!  OK, OK, I'll be the first to admit that I have been as offensive in this area as the very bodies to which I refer.  Even during my time in San Francisco I was comfortably late to some meetings, spot on time to others.  Since moving to the East, where time is short and patience shorter, I have developed an as of yet undiscovered sensitivity to Time Respect.

   The City East is a snake devouring its own tail.  Bodily and monetary survival are priority one.  We work double-digit hour days in exchange for access to monumental talent vibrating in every neighborhood, the inspiration and life-breath therein.  "Free Time" quickly becomes a distant memory, "Alone Time" seems to belong to a long-ago age - there's no time to worry that you're never alone.

   So "Time" has become a luxury with which I have been momentarily blessed.  That I choose to share my time with you for is a subtle sign and indicative test of respect, the outcome of which dictates whether the gift of my time will ever again be extended.

   To clarify, I do not expect anything resembling punctuality with a capital "p" when I am meeting a friend for a bourbon and a beer on a Tuesday night.  However, if I plan to share my skills creatively collaborating via a meeting of minds, agreed to start at X pm, I'll be there at fifteen minutes to X.  I feel my time is valuable - it's not a momentous leap of logic to assume that an other party considers their time valuable, so if I happen to show the disrespect of tardiness plus noncommunication, I certainly can't expect that person to readily do business with me again.

   "It's not 'business'," you say? "It's just music, man, don't be such a square."  A sharing of cultivated goods and skills for the agreed upon growth and profit of both parties sure as dirt sounds like business to me, say I.  Sure, maybe it doesn't have the look, smell or sound of an economic business, but of a creative business it seems to fit the mold neatly.

   Long story short, leave earlier than you think you should.  Better to be too early than too late, and if you know you're going to be late, communicate.  Life happens, you can't plan for everything, but a little foresight goes a long way, and I would bet ten to one that there are far more influential people who are sensitive to Time Respect.

A little tip from the Pork Chop Express on a dark and stormy night..

   I have been working my tuchus off these past couple weeks.  Double after double after double.  Waiting tables for 14 hour days at Becco, training at the Breukelen Coffee House, slogging through slow nights at Pop Art Bar.  I haven't seen Chetta after sundown in two weeks. I tell myself I'm working so hard so we can get on top of expenses, no longer have to live paycheck to paycheck, and to hopefully eventually have free time available to make art for love (which may even attract money, meaning most time could be free time).
   How does one stay sane with this back-to-back-to-back work lifestyle?  When I find out, I'll let you know via tag you in a Facebook note.  Until then, though, I revel in the few minutes I can find to engage in my passion: on my breaks between doubles (ranging from a half- to two hours), or on a sparsely peopled subway train or platform, I pull out my Andante practice pad and Vic Firth 5As (which I carry in my bag wherever I go) and tap away to anything with a steady beat - my ipod, car alarm, or the second hand of a public clock.  Buying Stick Control For the Snare Drummer was probably one of the best decision I've ever made for music, and I've only progressed to halfway down the first half of the first page in the month I've owned it.
   I combat my vague fear of pissing any surrounding people off with incessant tappa-tappa-tappa by playing controlled pianississimo paradiddles and double-stroke rolls, shifting sticking around (RLRR LRLL, RLLR LRRL, RRLR LLRL and RR LL RR LL, LR RL LR RL, respectively).  I try to concentrate on how good playing makes me feel, to let it envelope me like an electric blanket (or a cool breeze, if it's a hot day).  I realize that every worry drips away from me when muscle memory takes over and I can rest comfortably in the space between the beats of the simplest rhythm.  I can't help but imagine a warm golden sunlight emanating from me, splashing invisible contentment on the walls of wherever I happen to be.  And no matter how dark and dank my surroundings or my mood, I have a feeling the contentment remains when I leave, maybe for someone else to enjoy.
   So I make the time.  Even with my nonstop work schedule of late, I've found dependable pockets of time that I can spend doing what I love to do and, more importantly, getting noticeably better at what I love to do.  Hopefully my talent will become valuable when paired with a good attitude, professionalism, well-placed contacts and a healthy dollop of luck.  Speaking of which, anybody know anybody who knows anybody who is wanting for a professional, easy-going, well-adjusted, talented percussionist for whom no gig is to small?  I might know a guy..