Tuesday, February 17, 2015
"Everyone's taking selfies right and left, and I just can't handle it!" The tone was now becoming emotionally charged, and the brush was painting broader still.
"There has to be something really wrong with people who take selfies," she continued, her southern drawl emphasizing each word with time and affect. "Seriously, they have to have some kind of disorder. It has to be a disorder."
At this point, I would like to congratulate myself for not reaching in my pocket, pulling out my trusty iPhone, and scrolling through a few of my own selfies to see if we could perhaps refine the spontaneous diagnosis a bit. Maybe by looking through some Facebook profile pics we would see if we could nail down a good explanation for the malaise that plagued me, because obviously, according to this woman, something is seriously wrong with me. I have a deep seated, and clearly awful disorder. More laudable to me than the fact that I didn't do that is the fact that I didn't just take one on the spot there in the meeting room with her scowl in the background.
So I take selfies. I might even take a "lot" of selfies, but how would I know? It's not like I compare how many I take to anyone else. But yeah, I take selfies. They don't seem inappropriate or harmful to anyone. They aren't poor photography, or in bad taste, or... wait. What exactly is the problem here?
Judged and shamed publicly, I began to wonder, just what makes me do this? Overthinking is definitely one of my stronger points, and I began to worry if, indeed something was amiss. What if my front-facing camera is revealing more than just my face, and there is a deeper issue at play here? Why do I take selfies anyway?
I'm not terribly beautiful, and I know this. Ugly? No, but it's not like I'm supermodel material, either, so it's not about the looks. Not at all, even. And it's not because I think everyone else is waiting on the next view of my face, either. In fact, I take enough ribbing about it that if the opinions of everyone who made comments were taken to heart, I'd probably just shrivel into a corner. Honestly, a big piece of me just doesn't care if people like the selfie or not, any more than I care whether they like my kid photos, or my "lonely stuff" photos, or frankly, anything else I shoot. It didn't take long to dismiss her words as the outpouring of a judgmental heart, but the analysis had begun - I wasn't dropping the pursuit of an answer.
What is the purpose of any image, though? Ultimately, any intentional image is intended to provoke an emotion about its subject. Any good photo is merely impetus to feelings, whether it is derived from how cute your dog or grandchild is, how bad the next vehicle at the grocery store is parked, how breathtaking the flower you encountered is, or how remarkable your report card is. It's the same reason you take so many pictures on vacation, as you intentionally find the images you want to bring to memory, feeding your recall with the stimuli that provoke the enjoyment of the moment, taking you back there through the visual representation. When I see the photos of our Sun Valley trip, it takes me back there, and that was a great trip. Nobody posts an image that bores them, and nobody posts an image they think will bore others - it defies the very purpose of imagery. It's all about recording a time and place. If I happen to be there, I'm the photographer, and I'm in the photo, so be it.
Seeing someone's face is the best way to understand their emotions. That's why I like other people's selfies. Their smile, grimace, or wink tells me something about what they're feeling at the moment. It might be a wry grin that says, "I'm about to do this", a furrowed brow that says, "something's not right", or a pout that says, "I'm doing the most annoying thing on the internet, but I'm having fun!" Whatever the case, a person's eyes and facial features show me what they are feeling in a way that a verbal post cannot. In fact, maybe the most honest status update is just that view of the windows to our souls, moving past what words cannot even convey. Seeing someone's selfie at work tells you how they feel about the workday. Seeing someone's selfie in traffic tells you how they feel about the traffic. Seeing someone's selfie in the delivery room is just plain amazing. It tells its own story. No words necessary.
Yes, I've seen the articles swirl around Facebook on the psychology of selfies, and even attempted to read some of them, but ultimately it's the same as all the other article-mongering there. For every article that proves the point of the poster, there is another to counteract it, and all the content just goes to prove that there's research to prove anything you want if you're just willing to find it. (People can quit posting "this proves that..." articles on Facebook any time now. Have an original thought, post your own words, and be willing to be wrong if you are.) Honestly, I don't care what "studies show" because there will just be another study next week, and if they aren't talking to me, they aren't talking about me. I'm an individual, thank you very much.
Is the problem the selfies, or is the problem that you have such a problem with the selfies? Does my triumph or hard day have such a strong effect on you that it makes you hate on me even the more because my face is in the shot, and I took the picture myself? Would you dislike all the pictures if other people took them, or is it just that seeing other people confident enough with themselves to take a picture of their face makes you react negatively? Why is it that a photo of someone's face makes you so damned uncomfortable, anyway?
Maybe the problem isn't someone's supposed "disorder", but this incessant and self-imposed need to find a deep-seated reason for every single thing that bothers us about other humans. Maybe part of the problem is that we can't just let an individual be an individual and do what they do if it's different from our own pattern of behavior. Don't like it? Don't look. If my face bothers you so deeply, just don't look at it. Hide me. Unfriend me. But by all means, avoid that selfie that might pop up unexpectedly belying my severe disorder.
Or don't. Maybe it's just a picture, and that's all it is.
Sometimes a person just wants to remember a moment in time.
Sometimes a person just wants to record an emotion.
Sometimes a person just wants to show other people how they feel.
Sometimes a person just needs to remember they're alive. And why they're alive. And why they should stay that way.
Frankly, I'd rather be a narcissistic selfie-taker than a judgmental fault-finder anyway.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
It is an abiding passion of mine to reach to those who need help the most. The hurt, the downtrodden, the voiceless, and the overlooked need our attention, and if we are not using our talents and skills to help, then we are neglecting our own purpose in life. The AIM Project is my effort to reach out to our community with my strengths to show every person that they have value and importance. Check out the A4I article linked below, and check out the YouTube clip for a peek at the space. You can also follow Canyon West on Facebook for up-to-date info on the progress of the Project.
Thank you for your words, Amy.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Discovering that you are autistic as an adult is not an easy thing. Some five years ago, through the process of conversation with our son's doctor and my wife, I had to stand up, look myself in the eye, and come to grips with the fact that yes, I am autistic. The doctor's words in my ears were not easy, but I can still hear them, and I am grateful that he took the direct approach and stated simply, "Let's do some simple math...."
It all makes sense. In many ways I have higher-than-average intelligence, and the ability to see things in creative, unusual ways, but at the same time my life has been spent riding the pendulum between being socially awkward, socially inept, and a social pariah. Simple conversation has always been a task for me, even with people I love, interaction has always been tortuous, and I'll spare you any other details. See, when I was a kid, they didn't have things like "the autistic spectrum" or "Asperger's Syndrome". There were autistic kids, who were rather severely limited in what we considered to be mental capacity (oh, how wrong we were!), and there was everyone else. The autistic kids were the ones who flailed about, shouted and screamed nonsensical noises, and were kinda scary because you didn't know what they were going to do next. Something was "wrong" with them as individuals, and while there was a level of concern and regard for their plight, they formed our picture of what it meant to be autistic, and if you didn't display the same outward signs, then it was plain and simple: you weren't autistic.
Oddly enough, the thing that carried me through my teenage years turned out to be a completely misguided thought. I had developed this concept that eventually I would grow out of this "existence", and as an adult, that I wouldn't face the same challenges, so I pushed on, day by day, and year by year, hoping for the time when the issue would pass. Someday I would be able to make eye contact that wasn't painful. Someday I'd go through the day without taking unnecessary "restroom breaks" to pound my fists into each other to rid myself of the "stimming" urge. Someday the moments of non-verbal silence would be replaced with the ability to use my voice to express myself. Someday the screaming in my head would be quieted. Someday....
It wasn't easy to create the masks to cover my traits. I developed the ability to express myself through writing, singing, playing guitar, songwriting, and other methods that channeled out pieces of me here and there. My social abilities formed under the guidance of a strong mentor who saw potential in me (thank you, Buck), and I was able to hide the bigger quirks and characteristics, but the older I got, the harder it became. I had so counted on age and maturity to be the way out of my struggles, but although the years came and went, it only became more and more taxing to create covers and form versions of myself to fit different situations. Without knowing it, I had only exacerbated the problem. The harder I tried to hide myself, the harder it was to find myself, and in my desperation to escape my autistic mind, I only found it more prominent all the time. Adulthood just meant the same prison in a bigger mind and body.
There was one person who knew, and just didn't seem to mind. Meeting someone who loved me unconditionally amazed and baffled me, so when I met Sandra and she didn't seem to mind my social ills, I wasn't about to let go. She's the gentle, but brilliant type, so she knew before I even had a clue, and she loved me anyways, and she never pushed it. She just loved me. She saw deep into my mind and heart, but she didn't let it dissuade her, and didn't push away as so many others had. She just loved me. She loved me for who I am, even though I didn't know who I was. She was right there through the worst of it, right there when the doctor uttered those words, and she was right there when it all became clear to me and I let myself believe what she already knew.
I am autistic.
It's not easy for a man in his thirties with a construction-related job, a family, and a "life" to realize these things, but through the process of having a son diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome and facing other family difficulties at the time pushed me to the point where I had to look myself solidly in the eye and come to grips with who I was. I am autistic. Perhaps I am weird as well, but I'm not just weird. Perhaps I'm naturally intelligent, but I'm not just intelligent. No longer a kid, it took me to the brink, and forced me to see myself as I have never seen myself before. So many things started to add up and make sense, and yet at the same time it troubled me deeply, and brought up a spirit of regret and resentment. I was faced with a decision that was as monumental as anything I had ever seen, and as I began to be aware that I could easily regress into a place of darkness, at the same time, it was opening up to me that I had conquered so much already in my ignorance. My choice was clear. I would overcome.
Nothing is easy about telling people you're autistic. It's probably a confusing thing to hear someone say, and I get that, but the responses you receive are so weird. It would be so much easier to hide this, and not hear replies like,
"That's just for kids. You must have grown out of it."
"I don't think you are. My nephew is autistic and he ____."
"That's so overdiagnosed. You probably just have a deficiency."
"Is that why you act so strange sometimes?"
Honestly, one of the most empowering responses I've ever heard came from a friend who just said, "I know!" No one knew what to do with the information, and it made some very awkward conversations! Nevertheless, I was not going to let the workings of my mind hold me in bondage anymore, and I began to be honest with people about it. It wasn't going to be an excuse, but if I was ever going to triumph, it would start with honesty, and so I made up my mind that I would simply speak the truth about it, own it, quite hiding, and be the person I was created to be.
That's why, at 37 years of age, with no ink anywhere to be found on my body, I decided to get a tattoo. I had been toying with the idea for quite some time, but it wasn't something to take lightly or decide on quickly. I wanted something on me - in me! - that represented my identity, reflected my story, and would serve an an encouragement to others. One thing I found was that as I began to open up about who I am, it empowered other people to overcome the issues that they faced. I'm in a minority as an autistic adult, but far from it when it comes to being a person with issues. Everyone has something they face on a day to day basis, and the idea of overcoming is, or should be, universal to all of us. It starts with the concept of self-awareness and acknowledging what holds us back, and isn't fully conquered until we use the lessons we have learned to help others. I wanted a permanent piece of that as a part of me, and one day as I mindlessly sketched some thoughts on a piece of scrap paper, it all came together, and I formed what would be my art.
* The puzzle piece is clear enough. It is the universal symbol of autism, exemplary of the cryptic, mysterious nature of the syndrome. No one really knows where it comes from, and no one really understands how it works. It is all an enigma, and the pieces do not fit.
* The heart is a reminder that I am loved. Nothing is more important to me than to know that I am loved, even though I can convince myself otherwise in an instant. I can never forget now, though, and it is a reminder to me to love others the way I am loved. Unconditionally. Fully.
* The word "overcome" is my way of encouraging others to face their fears and conquer them. It's also for me. Don't think that I have convinced myself I've arrived. It's all a work in progress.
Getting this tattoo is one of the most difficult things I've ever done. Needles are a phobia of mine, and my pain tolerance is incredibly low. No, lower than that, even. This process scared me to death, and I'm still somewhat in shock that I was able to go through with it. In fact, this process was all about facing fears of so many types for me, and it became all the more real for me as I headed to my appointment realizing that it would just be me and the tattoo artist who was essentially a stranger to me. I would be staring these fears down completely alone, and being alone terrifies me.
God must have sent the perfect person to do this job, because Mandy at Mona Lisa Tattoo in Nampa seemed to understand all along the way. It was uncomfortable to approach her with this unusual (for me) idea, but she "got it" from the start, took my sketch, and adapted it to a skin-oriented piece of work that combined meaningfulness with artistry. This was one of the most important things because I didn't just want a tattoo -- I wanted this tattoo for a very specific reason, and it took someone with understanding to pull it off correctly. It was a great relief to be able to honestly explain my idea and the reasoning, and have someone be able to carry out what I had in my mind. There was no judgment for my timidity or mockery of my fear. Gently and compassionately, she walked me through the process, showed me her idea for the final piece, and it was time to begin.
Hurt? Heck yes, it hurt. Voluntary pain is not something I am accustomed to, and the fact that I signed up for this became that much stranger as the needles began their work. At one point, I was almost ready to ask her to wrap it up, when Tom Petty's classic "Won't Back Down" came on the radio, and reminded me of why I was there. It wasn't less painful, but it pulled my attention away from my discomfort and back to the purpose. This wasn't just for decoration or fun. This was for a reason. This wasn't just for me. This was for everyone who has mountains to climb.
The result? I couldn't be happier. As Mandy began to clean up and give final instructions, I started to become a bit emotional, realizing that I had just done something so incomprehensibly difficult, but found the courage and did it. I constantly tell my students to "do hard things" because the rewards are so great, so as I came to grips with what I had just surmounted, and heard the words, "I'm proud of you", it overwhelmed me.
Do I recommend getting a tattoo? Not necessarily. I wouldn't do it again without an extremely good reason. It's painful as heck, permanent, and carries a stigma with some, including some people I love. It was incredibly unpleasant, and totally unromantic. Oh, and I'm so glad I did it.
People want to know the story behind every tattoo, and this is one that needs to be told. It isn't an easy story. This must be the most uncomfortable thing I've ever written, but it bears being told because there is a world that needs encouragement to overcome their obstacles, and the love that will help carry them through. Whatever your story is, I hope that hearing mine will help you honestly face your burdens, use the beautiful gifts that God has given you, and by His grace to overcome them. Don't stop there, though, because as we work through this process called life, we will be surrounded by those who need our help to overcome as well. Reach out a hand to them, because maybe they're just reaching for one, and yours will be the only one they find.
I'm overcoming. You can too.
Monday, January 21, 2013
It is unquestionable and uncontested: George Strait is my favorite recording and performing artist. This is nothing new, as I've been a fan of his since the mid-90s, and it's not really a secret, either. There are countless people in this corner of the solar system who would echo exactly the same sentiments as these. However, is the man coming through their town this week?
George Strait will be in my home town of Nampa, Idaho this week, bringing the Ace In The Hole Band, and a hat full of hits. Now, I should be excited about this, but I'm not really. I'm happy for the thousands that will be there, but as I am economically excluded, it doesn't thrill me like it should. The occasion should not go unmarked, though, momentous as it is.
Enough has been written about George the artist: his ability to select the best songs, his mind-blowing collection of #1 hits, and how he almost singlehandedly saved country music from itself. Enough has been written about George the man: his genuine personality, his long marriage to Norma, his triumph over family tragedy, and his work with veterans' charities. It's not as if George is an obscure figure whose story is yet to be told. What can I possibly add?
No, I have no news to break. No scoop or startling revelation will be found here. No controversy will be discovered. I just like George Strait.
My disappointment at missing this show is tempered by the fact that I got to attend one of his concerts in 2007 at the Taco Bell Center. It was the best concert I've ever attended, and six years later I'm still so grateful at the opportunity to have seen him and his band there. It was a night I'll never forget, and while I cannot predict the future well enough to guarantee that it will never be equalled, that will certainly take a remarkable experience to accomplish.
For George's sake, I'm glad he's retiring from the touring game. It's no secret that the road has never been his favorite thing, and this frees him up to keep making great records. I've always had a greater respect for those who have known when to hang it up than those who keep dragging out their career through ever-diminishing venues to disappointing ends. Frankly, I'm surprised George didn't call it a day earlier, but glad he didn't do so before '07.
If you have tickets for the show Saturday, I really am happy for you. It should be amazing, and you're bound to enjoy yourself. A concert like this is bound to be at the same time fun, emotional, and definitely memorable. If you think of it, snap a pic for me and send it my way - that would just make my day.
Is there a point to all this? Perhaps. It's not like George needs me there to make his career complete. Oh, and while I'm a fan, I'm not a crazed fan: missing this show won't make me suicidal. It may be that this is just my way of tipping my hat to the man from the nosebleeds. Will he read this? Not a chance. Will it devolve into the anonymous noise of a million other blog posts? Certainly. Will it be quickly forgotten? Absolutely. Still and all, I can't let The Cowboy Ride Away without saying it one last time.
Thanks for making me love country music. Thanks for "Amarillo By Morning" and "Wrapped". Thanks for our wedding walk-out song ("Blue Clear Sky"). Thanks for the drumstick from Kennedy... even though I'm not really a collector. Thanks for keeping it traditional, but not being afraid to be yourself. Thanks for rescuing a dying genre that needed the genuine-ness you brought it. Thanks for the show six years ago. It was a heck of a time.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Saturday, July 28, 2012
|Sara Evans in Caldwell, Idaho|
The fact that this lovely lady has just released another album led to three new songs being included in her set, but other than that, most of the setlist has not changed over the past few years. Her dramatic personal issues resulted in quite a bit of time off, which led to an unfortunate "hiccup" in her career. Consequently, I believe this presents significant difficulty in keeping song selection and arrangements fresh, and you can't really blame this on Sara. Having said that, it really is time for new encore song. "Want You To Want Me" was fun the first couple times, but changing it up couldn't hurt at this point. My suggestions for a classic-rock cover? "Keep Your Hands To Yourself" by .38 Special, perhaps? "Walk This Way" by Aerosmith? The one I think would really work with the same tempo/spirit, and totally in line with Sara's twisted and somewhat risque sense of humor? "Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC. Think about it.
(The set was also a bit short, only running around an hour, which caused a bit of a stir among some ticket purchasers, who dropped $30/each on their seats. Since we were in the free General Admission area, it didn't bother me a bit.)
The band configuration has changed somewhat, as bands are prone to do. Lawson has left to pursue his fantastic band, Tin Cup Gypsy, and the revolving-door list of guitarists has settled with Kris Donegan, whose tone was simply unbelievable. (In particular, his Gretsch tones were ridiculously good.) The most notable change was that none of Sara's sisters were doing backup vocals for her, which actually cleaned things up musically a bit. They are fine musicians with the Evans' good looks, but there is something musically "cleaner" about the new sound with those bgvs rotating between the different instrumentalists. On the other hand, it also eliminated the cover of Dolly Parton's "Jolene", which was one of my favorite parts of the show. All things have their benefits and drawbacks, I suppose. Still in place are the nimble Brent Wilson, sporting a nice new Les Paul, the stone-solid Jim Bloodgood, and thumper/brother Matt Evans, who reminded me how bass players never look like they're earning they're money. It's not that they aren't earning their money - they just make it look way easier to play well than it actually is.
Sara is still just as lovely as she ever was, and she's not intimidated about it. She is still as sweet-and-sassy as ever, and strutted her stuff confidently about the stage just like always. It tugged at my heart when she took notice of my autistic little guy (who tends to noticeably "stim" when in a hyper-stimulative situation like a loud concert), and made sure he saw her waving to him. He likes people, and people really take to him. Apparently even the big names are no different, but it still does a dad's heart good to see.
More to report after Sara show number 6? Perhaps.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Well, once upon a time, I was a frequent blogger, and when my carpentry job slowed down, my blogging picked up that much more! When that job went belly-up, everything changed. Trying to find work threw my life into a spiral of catastrophic proportions resulting in eventually finding a job that sucked the loose moments from my day and the joy from my life. In a single year, I must have aged five or more. When, finally, I was unceremoniously replaced and let go at that job, I wasn't sure whether I should despair further, or feel relief!
Enough. Time for change. There's a new place to find NoGoodGuitarPicker: Canyon West Guitars.
After all the frustration, I decided, to heck with it all, and started my own guitar shop here in Nampa. Guitars, coffee, and me. Check us on Facebook or Twitter (obligatory like-and/or-follow inserted here), and stop in if you can.
There's nothing really revolutionary about the shop. We sell guitars and related instruments, gear, and accessories to go with them, give lessons, and do a lot of service work. As those of you who know may well guess, though, the whole tone of the shop is pretty laid back. New customers are sometimes surprised that right there on the sales floor is a "visiting area", complete with comfy couch and chairs, but once they kick back with a cup of our own coffee blend, and find themselves engaged in pleasant conversation with a fellow picker, the idea grown on them pretty quickly! The shop isn't about making sales or racking up profits - it's about serving people and passing along the great heritage of good tone. We call Canyon West, "Your Home For Tone", and try to keep things as home-y as possible here. No, I really wouldn't have it any other way.
Hopefully I'll be writing a bit more frequently, too. Unless you want to keep me busy selling stuff, that is....
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
There aren't many. Nope, not many at all. The simplest option outside of the aforementioned hardware-store washer was a little item called the "StrapKeeper" from a small Colorado company called Tapastring. It seemed pretty applicable to my situation from the website description, so I took the ten dollar risk (to use the term rather loosely), and received it in the mail just about two days later.
It's simple, unobtrusive, effective, and (my favorite part) only took me about two seconds to figure out. If you have enough talent to slip your strap over the pin in the first place, you can figure out how to put this together. You can see from the image that it is easy on the widened strap hole, and completely out of the way, lying flat against the base of the guitar's body. The endpin isn't wearing on the hole anymore, so even if it is called into use for another guitar, it isn't currently being harmed.
It seems extremely secure, which is the point in the first place. Tapastring uses the image of a brass-bodied resonator suspended head-down by a StrapKeeper. I don't quite have that much faith in my new little piece of gear. It's not that I don't think it can hold up to the task; I just don't think I can hold my guitar like that. Call me the nervous type. In any case, I don't plan on swinging it about by the strap, so it works well enough for me. (On the other hand, viewing the site while listening to Little Big Town started making me get the "wants" for a reso. Mrs. NoGoodGuitarPicker isn't gonna like this.) For good measure, I put a regular "push-button" strap lock on the other end, but that might be over kill.
One of the best parts is that it comes from a small US company. Purchasing items from the big guys is not necessarily dissatisfactory, but there is something particularly cool about getting a great piece of guitar gear and knowing that you're not just getting another part that rolled off an assembly line somewhere. Your money isn't going to a bigwig somewhere -- it's going back into a small business in the United States. Yep, that's a fair bit of satisfaction right there.
The strap lives on.
The StrapKeeper at Canyon West Guitars