Definitions aren't just a part of the dictionary. I believe that everyone has their own definition. This may sound pretty cheesy, like something that would be the plot of some high school-themed movie about jocks, nerds, and drama geeks, but it's true.
Not only do definitions apply to everyone, but for the most part people define themselves. It may be a subconscious thing, or it may be physical. But needless to say, it happens. To know how your life is defined, you just have to think what it would say next to your name if you were to look yourself up in the "dictionary of life."
I mention all of this because I have come to recognize that I have come to recognize the definition that I've given of myself, especially in the past three years, if not longer. In reality, I'd have to say it's been for about the past six. And, essentially, I have defined myself as a musician.
I have always been, for the most part, a shy guy. Although I like sports, I've never been a super jock and haven't played on any high school teams. I'm not the guy that can effortlessly walk up to a cute girl that I see in the hallway and get her number, and although I think I'm a pretty approachable, interesting guy, I'm not the attention-seeker in a class that shouts out funny comments to get laughs.
But all of that is different when I have a guitar in my hands. When I am performing in front of people, I know no fear. I have no problem running and jumping all over the stage, being crazy and acting like a rock star. It's like second nature to me. I have always said that music is my "out," a way for me to come out of my shell and to show a different side of me.
I love every aspect of music. I can easily spend hours sitting down with my bass, my acoustic guitar, or on the piano, meticulously plucking away at notes trying to come up with something cool, or trying to learn how to play my favorite songs or tweak them to my liking. I love how lyrics can be seamlessly intertwined with music to create a work of art as well. In fact, even while I was on my mission in Brazil, I spent my down time on preparation days sitting down with a notepad and a pen, scribbling down lyrics that one day I hoped to blend with some music.
I have also really thrived at playing the part of the "musician," playing in shows, practicing with a band comprised of my best friends, writing music, performing covers, recording albums, and self-promoting with every chance I got. I loved the feeling of arriving at a venue with my gear, setting up, and walking on stage to play music that I had a part in writing to fans who paid money to see me play. It is a pretty remarkable feeling.
Although music always took the primary spot on the importance scale in the musician's world for me, I really enjoyed being able to inform people of my music. It was nice to let people know that I played in a rock band, and to let them listen to my music. I enjoyed mingling with other bands and venue owners to talk music, and to plan events. I adored hitting the social media outlets to let our followers know of new music being written, upcoming shows, and let them share in the life that I had.
Unfortunately, much of what I have said was in the past-tense. Over a course of the past few weeks and months, much of this life took a brutal hit, and shook my entire life. For the first time in three years, I had to ask myself the question, "where do I go from here?" My band, as well as my way of life, began to dissolve around me, and it forced me to take a step back and attempt to perceive how exactly my life was defined.
I have spent the last three years knowing that band practice and shows, like paying taxes, was a surety and would be a regular occurrence. Even with living the life of a rock musician, I had a very structured life. However, suddenly the walls have come crashing down and I feel like I am standing in the middle of a whole, wide world with many directions to take.
I suppose that in many ways this is a good thing. It helped me understand that I do have options in my life, and it helped me to realize what it is that I truly want to accomplish in my life, and that I have the power to make my own decisions. But at the same time, it frightened me to take a look at my life and ask, "who am I when you take away the music?"
Suddenly, my life felt pretty empty. A spell of depression hit as I realized that music is a very large chunk of my life. Without music, I am a guy working at a low-paying job while I finish up my Bachelor of Science degree in Information Technology. I am a guy with no girlfriend, on no sports team, and with a large pool of acquaintances but a small circle of friends. I am a guy with a lot of free time, with no easy solution as to how to fill it.
But at the same time, looking closely at my life, it helps me to see exactly what I do have as well. I am a guy who is only semesters away from having a 4-year college degree. I am a returned LDS missionary who speaks fluent Portuguese, and who is true to his faith. I am a certified computing expert who is very skilled technologically. I am a kind, humble, funny, personable guy who enjoys people and is fun to be around. And, of course, I am a musician, being musically talented.
In essence, when I look back, music is a very large part of my life, but it is not the only thing in my life. Perhaps it was the perfect time for me to discover that. I still enjoy music, and believe that I will always be able to consider myself a musician. Whether I continue with the same group of musicians, find a new one, or continue to improve my musical abilities on my own, I will always have the passion for music that I always have, and will always let the power of music enrich my life.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Brain Poision
There are three specific times in my life--that I can remember--that I have experienced the harmful and devastating effects of alcohol on people that I care about. Two of these occurred in Brazil, the third being more recent.
While serving my mission in São Paulo, I lived in an interior city called São José dos Campos, in a neighborhood called Jardim Morumbi. My companion and I, Elder Santana, were holding a baptismal service in the church, when a drunk man wandered in asking to hear more about this Mormon church. After the program, we took him into the chapel and sat down with him, teaching him about the church, giving him the standard "first lesson." He was interested in hearing more, so we began meeting with him regularly, after making him promise to be sober so we wouldn't be wasting our time teaching a man who was unable to coherently understand it. He agreed.
With each lesson, he proudly announced to us that he had stopped drinking and was really excited to have a life outside of alcohol. He was later baptized, and actively participated in the church.
Unfortunately, several weeks after Elder Santana was transferred, we received the sad news that Brother Sales, our convert, had suffered a relapse. We went to his humble apartment and found him lying on his bed, drunk into a stupor. I was very upset that he had returned to drinking, as I had been so impressed with the change in his life when he finally relinquished the bottle. I asked him about it, and in a slurred voice he replied that he had been offered a drink by a friend and had been too afraid to deny, and after taking his first drink since sobering up, he fell down the slippery slope and was overcome by the temptation.
I just remember how sad it was to see him so overpowered by a drink, and how it had completely taken over his life. He told me while lying on his bed that night that it was so hard to quit the first time that he didn't think he could ever do it again. Despite our urging and helping him to return to sobriety, it was no use and he returned to the streets, going from bar to bar. Throughout my remaining time in that area, when I would occasionally see him stumbling down the street, bottle in hand, it would also bring sad memories to the front of my mind.
The second experience I had on my mission involved a young man in his early twenties named Adriano, who lived in a neighborhood called Vila Galvão in Guarulhos, near the international airport. He was divorced with a beautiful little girl. He told us that he used to drink, and that vice had destroyed his marriage.
He readily accepted the Gospel and embraced the teachings, being baptized soon after beginning visits with me and my companion, along with his mother. He thrived in the Gospel, making many new friends and really enjoying each week at church. He even hit a bunch of single adult activities including dances and other activities.
However, he took a job that was extremely stressful, and one fateful night when the stress was smothering him, he made the mistake of turning to the bottle. I never saw Adriano drunk like I did Sales, but the fact that he had returned to alcohol after it had sabotaged his family made him so upset with himself that he sent himself into a tailspin. He no longer felt comfortable attending church, feeling inadequate for having relapsed that night, and I was transferred out of the area before I could see him turn around.
Those two examples were during my mission, but I had a more devastating experience the other night, and it was mostly due to the fact that the one brought to his knees by the alcohol was one of my best friends and mentors who I have looked up to for several years now. I saw him so loaded that he was stumbling all over the place and literally had a very hard time stringing two words together.
It was surprisingly very hard to me to watch somebody that I had always taken advice from be brought down to the intelligence level of a small child. Unfortunately, I lost a ton of respect for him that night, and I expect that it will be hard for me to take any advice from him in the future. I hope this will change with time, but only time will tell.
The most upsetting part is that he has already beaten alcohol once several years ago, and vowed never to return to it, as he recognized just how much it had negatively affected his life. I'm just hoping and praying that he makes this same epiphany once again and comes to his senses. Once again, only time will tell.
While serving my mission in São Paulo, I lived in an interior city called São José dos Campos, in a neighborhood called Jardim Morumbi. My companion and I, Elder Santana, were holding a baptismal service in the church, when a drunk man wandered in asking to hear more about this Mormon church. After the program, we took him into the chapel and sat down with him, teaching him about the church, giving him the standard "first lesson." He was interested in hearing more, so we began meeting with him regularly, after making him promise to be sober so we wouldn't be wasting our time teaching a man who was unable to coherently understand it. He agreed.
With each lesson, he proudly announced to us that he had stopped drinking and was really excited to have a life outside of alcohol. He was later baptized, and actively participated in the church.
Unfortunately, several weeks after Elder Santana was transferred, we received the sad news that Brother Sales, our convert, had suffered a relapse. We went to his humble apartment and found him lying on his bed, drunk into a stupor. I was very upset that he had returned to drinking, as I had been so impressed with the change in his life when he finally relinquished the bottle. I asked him about it, and in a slurred voice he replied that he had been offered a drink by a friend and had been too afraid to deny, and after taking his first drink since sobering up, he fell down the slippery slope and was overcome by the temptation.
I just remember how sad it was to see him so overpowered by a drink, and how it had completely taken over his life. He told me while lying on his bed that night that it was so hard to quit the first time that he didn't think he could ever do it again. Despite our urging and helping him to return to sobriety, it was no use and he returned to the streets, going from bar to bar. Throughout my remaining time in that area, when I would occasionally see him stumbling down the street, bottle in hand, it would also bring sad memories to the front of my mind.
The second experience I had on my mission involved a young man in his early twenties named Adriano, who lived in a neighborhood called Vila Galvão in Guarulhos, near the international airport. He was divorced with a beautiful little girl. He told us that he used to drink, and that vice had destroyed his marriage.
He readily accepted the Gospel and embraced the teachings, being baptized soon after beginning visits with me and my companion, along with his mother. He thrived in the Gospel, making many new friends and really enjoying each week at church. He even hit a bunch of single adult activities including dances and other activities.
However, he took a job that was extremely stressful, and one fateful night when the stress was smothering him, he made the mistake of turning to the bottle. I never saw Adriano drunk like I did Sales, but the fact that he had returned to alcohol after it had sabotaged his family made him so upset with himself that he sent himself into a tailspin. He no longer felt comfortable attending church, feeling inadequate for having relapsed that night, and I was transferred out of the area before I could see him turn around.
Those two examples were during my mission, but I had a more devastating experience the other night, and it was mostly due to the fact that the one brought to his knees by the alcohol was one of my best friends and mentors who I have looked up to for several years now. I saw him so loaded that he was stumbling all over the place and literally had a very hard time stringing two words together.
It was surprisingly very hard to me to watch somebody that I had always taken advice from be brought down to the intelligence level of a small child. Unfortunately, I lost a ton of respect for him that night, and I expect that it will be hard for me to take any advice from him in the future. I hope this will change with time, but only time will tell.
The most upsetting part is that he has already beaten alcohol once several years ago, and vowed never to return to it, as he recognized just how much it had negatively affected his life. I'm just hoping and praying that he makes this same epiphany once again and comes to his senses. Once again, only time will tell.
Monday, March 21, 2011
The Bona Blues
I didn't get a chance yet to talk about our last band practice at Bona Signs, even though it was really awesome. And now that Adam posted some sweet pictures on Facebook that he took with his nice SLR camera, I figure it's about time that I show them off a bit.
Two weeks ago, we had our second practice at the Bona Signs warehouse in Springville. It was about as long as the first one, and once again we got a lot done, working on new and old songs, as well as some sweet covers we're trying to hammer out for our next shows. There was, however, one very big difference that set this practice apart: the lighting.
In the center of the warehouse was a large, LED message board, like what are used on huge electronic marquees on billboards and at shopping malls. Just drive down the freeway for 20 minutes--or even down state street in Orem so you can get blinded by the Supersonic Car Wash sign--and you'll know what I'm talking about. We actually took our band promo pictures in front of a similar message board back when we were preparing our album.
Anyway, halfway through the practice, Brian shut off the main lights as Blue turned on the message board, bathing the warehouse in an eerie blue light. It really made it fun to practice, as it almost made it feel as if we were at a show with stage lighting.
It also made for good practice, because it really tests your skill when you have to play an instrument in the dark, as you can't see what frets your playing and really have to rely on memory and feel. Back when I played in my old band 2 The Same, and when I first started with Formerly So, I used to practice to the songs in my basement with the lights off and only the computer monitors to give me light, so that I could get used to it. But it even close to the same.
It was definitely a band practice to remember, and really got us excited to hit some future shows, and to finish up all of the new songs we have in the hopper that are super close to being completed.
Two weeks ago, we had our second practice at the Bona Signs warehouse in Springville. It was about as long as the first one, and once again we got a lot done, working on new and old songs, as well as some sweet covers we're trying to hammer out for our next shows. There was, however, one very big difference that set this practice apart: the lighting.
In the center of the warehouse was a large, LED message board, like what are used on huge electronic marquees on billboards and at shopping malls. Just drive down the freeway for 20 minutes--or even down state street in Orem so you can get blinded by the Supersonic Car Wash sign--and you'll know what I'm talking about. We actually took our band promo pictures in front of a similar message board back when we were preparing our album.
Anyway, halfway through the practice, Brian shut off the main lights as Blue turned on the message board, bathing the warehouse in an eerie blue light. It really made it fun to practice, as it almost made it feel as if we were at a show with stage lighting.
It also made for good practice, because it really tests your skill when you have to play an instrument in the dark, as you can't see what frets your playing and really have to rely on memory and feel. Back when I played in my old band 2 The Same, and when I first started with Formerly So, I used to practice to the songs in my basement with the lights off and only the computer monitors to give me light, so that I could get used to it. But it even close to the same.
It was definitely a band practice to remember, and really got us excited to hit some future shows, and to finish up all of the new songs we have in the hopper that are super close to being completed.
36 Holes in Two Days
Last weekend was the long-awaited golf trip that my Dad, my brother Easton, and I had planned months in advance. We spent three days down in Mesquite, NV, as well as southern Utah, hitting some major golf courses and just having an all-around good time.
Now, I'm not a huge golfer. In fact, before this trip, the last time I had been golfing was before my mission, meaning it had been at least four years, if not five. I had the same set of clubs since when I was about fifteen or sixteen, and they weren't the best. But the night before the trip, my dad and I hit Big 5, where we found an amazing left-handed set by South Bay that included 12 clubs, for only $129. I didn't buy them, but the next morning my dad spent awhile on the phone with the manager, and talked him down to selling them for $97, and of course I jumped on that. And I must say, they were definitely worth the money.
So, on Thursday afternoon after picking Easton up from school, we made the journey down to Mesquite, where we stayed at the Virgin River Motel & Casino. We always stay at the Virgin River because not only do they have great prices and nice rooms, but their prime rib in their cafe is to die for. And it's only five bucks.
Friday afternoon was our first round of 18 holes, at the Palms golf course...the one that is always advertised on TV on the Casablanca Resort and Casino commercials. It was a beautiful course, and was a ton of fun. I was actually impressed with how well I did, and attribute a lot of it to the new clubs. Beginner's Luck played it's part as well.
The course had just about everything, with a ton of water shots, shorter par 3's, and even a sweet hole where we had to hit off a cliff into a valley below. It was amazing. Our tee time was at 2:30pm, which is considered a twilight tee time, and there was a good chance that we wouldn't be able to get all 18 holes in before it got dark. But, with the moon in the sky and the sun going down, we finished the last hole and still made it back to the motel before it was completely dark.
The next morning we got up at 5am (Nevada time), packed up, ate breakfast at the cafe, and headed to Apple Valley, UT, for the Kokopelli golf course. For those of you who don't know (and neither did I), Apple Valley is just past Hurricane, UT, near St. George. We were actually comped the golf game by a friend of my dad's named Mike, who works on the magazine Fairway Golf. It was really cool of him to do that, especially because the course is well-known and very expensive.
It was extremely windy on the course for about the first 10 holes, but it was still amazing, with tons of cliff/valley/canyon shots, and a sweet par 3 hole where we hit from one hilltop to another, shooting over the cart path down below. It was very cool. And at the end of the 18 holes, we were even given chicken enchiladas for lunch. Can't beat that.
So, this weekend turned out to be a much-needed, relaxing vacation for all three of us, and it reminded me why I used to love golf when I was a teen.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Bingo!
This past weekend my friend Andrea and I made a day trip to Wendover, taking what is known as the "Fun Bus." For those of you who don't know, Wendover is a town bordering the Utah-Nevada state line, and is known for its many casinos, as well as being the scene for a ton of movies, including Con Air and The World's Fasted Indian.
The Fun Bus, was exactly that...a whole lot of fun. The driver's wife was the emcee, and she was hilarious! On the drive to Wendover, it's tradition for the passengers to play a game of bingo, being able to win dollar bills and little gifts and prizes. The whole thing was pretty wild for several reasons.
First, Marsha (the bus driver's wife) shouted that our bus didn't have a PA system, and that she would have to speak loudly to be heard. But then she noticed a toy voice modulator on the seat next to her...who knows why. (A voice modulator looks like a megaphone, but transforms the voice, usually with a few settings like Darth Vader, Child, Robot, and Alien) Thinking it was a megaphone, she picked it up and used it to give the Bingo instructions, sounding like C3PO the whole time.
The bingo cards we used were made to be portable, with little red, transparent windows that you could slide over the number if it was called out. Instead of balls that were drawn to give the numbers, Marsha had some playing cards with letters and numbers, that she was supposed to use to call out the numbers during the game.
The way we played was with a letter at a time, trying to win by columns, as Marsha thought this would be easier. That means she would only call out the B's first, and whoever got them all first would win. But what Marsha didn't realize is that she was supposed to move on to the next letter after a winner was announced. Instead she called out every single number to each letter, meaning that everyone on the bus called out Bingo! five times that day. It was sad (and funny) that neither Marsha, nor her daughter who was helping, didn't realize their mistake, and Andrea and I couldn't help but laugh as we overheard her say, "Wow, there sure are a lot of winners tonight."
The night was fun after we got to Wendover. We were given five dollars in cash, a voucher to a free meal at the buffet (the regular price being $19.95), five dollars free play on the slots, and some Lucky Bucks for the tables, which I didn't use. It was way fun. The buffet was awesome, as it always is, with prime rib, seafood of all kinds, and anything else imaginable. It was delicious, to say the least.
I brought fifty bucks with me for the trip, fifteen for the bus ride and the rest to play around with. I wasn't a "big winner," but after all was said and done, I got back on the bus to go home--at 3am because of daylight savings time, meaning I climbed into bed at 6am--with fifty bucks still in my wallet, meaning I not only didn't lose any money, but I also won back the money it cost me for the bus.
So overall, it was a fun little mini-adventure.
The Fun Bus, was exactly that...a whole lot of fun. The driver's wife was the emcee, and she was hilarious! On the drive to Wendover, it's tradition for the passengers to play a game of bingo, being able to win dollar bills and little gifts and prizes. The whole thing was pretty wild for several reasons.
First, Marsha (the bus driver's wife) shouted that our bus didn't have a PA system, and that she would have to speak loudly to be heard. But then she noticed a toy voice modulator on the seat next to her...who knows why. (A voice modulator looks like a megaphone, but transforms the voice, usually with a few settings like Darth Vader, Child, Robot, and Alien) Thinking it was a megaphone, she picked it up and used it to give the Bingo instructions, sounding like C3PO the whole time.
The bingo cards we used were made to be portable, with little red, transparent windows that you could slide over the number if it was called out. Instead of balls that were drawn to give the numbers, Marsha had some playing cards with letters and numbers, that she was supposed to use to call out the numbers during the game.
The way we played was with a letter at a time, trying to win by columns, as Marsha thought this would be easier. That means she would only call out the B's first, and whoever got them all first would win. But what Marsha didn't realize is that she was supposed to move on to the next letter after a winner was announced. Instead she called out every single number to each letter, meaning that everyone on the bus called out Bingo! five times that day. It was sad (and funny) that neither Marsha, nor her daughter who was helping, didn't realize their mistake, and Andrea and I couldn't help but laugh as we overheard her say, "Wow, there sure are a lot of winners tonight."
The night was fun after we got to Wendover. We were given five dollars in cash, a voucher to a free meal at the buffet (the regular price being $19.95), five dollars free play on the slots, and some Lucky Bucks for the tables, which I didn't use. It was way fun. The buffet was awesome, as it always is, with prime rib, seafood of all kinds, and anything else imaginable. It was delicious, to say the least.
I brought fifty bucks with me for the trip, fifteen for the bus ride and the rest to play around with. I wasn't a "big winner," but after all was said and done, I got back on the bus to go home--at 3am because of daylight savings time, meaning I climbed into bed at 6am--with fifty bucks still in my wallet, meaning I not only didn't lose any money, but I also won back the money it cost me for the bus.
So overall, it was a fun little mini-adventure.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Band Practice at Bona
Last night was pretty awesome. After working a shift until 4, I picked up Tim (guitarist in my band) and together we headed down to Springville to the Bona Signs warehouse, where Blue, Brian, and Adam (Formerly So guitarist, drummer, and sound tech, respectively) work. They had gotten there hours earlier, setting up our PA system and the drum set, so that when we all showed up we could have a long, thorough band practice.
We practiced from about 5pm until around 11pm, and got a lot done. We worked on every one of our songs, old and new, we hit a bunch of the cover songs we play (even some we haven't played in months), and worked on some new songs as well.
Overall, it was an awesome night, and even though I got home feeling more sore than after a day of snowboarding, I had a great time hanging out with some of my best friends and playing the guitar. I'm looking forward to the next jam session.
We practiced from about 5pm until around 11pm, and got a lot done. We worked on every one of our songs, old and new, we hit a bunch of the cover songs we play (even some we haven't played in months), and worked on some new songs as well.
Overall, it was an awesome night, and even though I got home feeling more sore than after a day of snowboarding, I had a great time hanging out with some of my best friends and playing the guitar. I'm looking forward to the next jam session.
It Begins...
Well, it's happened. I've found the need to create my own blog. Why? I'm not exactly sure, but I suppose there are a few reasons. What really got me interested is a zombie book I've been reading. Yeah, you heard me right, a zombie book. It's actually called Feed, by Mira Grant. It's about life after the zombie apocalypse, and how life goes on. I've been reading some good zombie books lately, and this one not only has some good action, but also hits on some interesting topics, like the media. In this story, blogging has become a huge element of national news, because they don't have to go through so much red tape to get the news out there. So while reading, I thought to myself that I might as well get one going too.
I also figure that with a blog, I will be able to post some pictures of what I've been doing with my band, as well as anything else interesting (or not) in my life, without having to rely only on Facebook. So, let's see where this takes me, and if it lasts.
I also figure that with a blog, I will be able to post some pictures of what I've been doing with my band, as well as anything else interesting (or not) in my life, without having to rely only on Facebook. So, let's see where this takes me, and if it lasts.
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