Jeff Buckley: Grace (Album)

Last week, when Jason Castro sang “Hallelujah” on American Idol, I was astounded by the beauty of his performance, but also inspired by the beauty of the song. Frankly, the whole thing was a little raw compared to what Idol normally serves up. Fortunately, I have a huge appetite for music: I like it raw, rugged, processed, whatever. I’m a junkie.

I knew I’d heard the song before, and I was surprised that the singer didn’t come to mind immediately, because I’m a walking music encyclopedia. So, when Simon let it slip that the song was by Jeff Buckley, a bell went off in my head. “Hey, that’s my friend Jaden’s favorite singer!” Despite that fact that Buckley is so beloved by my good friend, I really haven’t been exposed to much of his music, so I hopped online and read about him. It turns out that the song Jason Castro performed, “Hallelujah,” was actually a Leonard Cohen original, but I was intrigued by Buckley’s biography, and what the critics had to say about him. I listened to a snippet of Cohen’s version and a snippet of Buckley’s and determined that Buckley’s was the one I was familiar with, and the artist I wanted to explore in greater depth.

Nowadays, we live in a 99¢ song culture. Over the last few years, it’s been rare for me to purchase an entire album versus just downloading a song or two. But I splurged because Buckley seemed worth it. And I wasn’t disappointed.

Grace is an album of haunting beauty, enchanting melodies, and soul-stirring rhythms. Buckley’s voice is simply angelic. Actually, angelic doesn’t begin to describe the total grace and nirvana that is Jeff Buckley’s voice. Although each track stands alone, and “Hallelujah” remains my favorite, the songs come together as one to form an album that is both moving and somehow rebellious, soulful and edgy. Put simply, the entire collection is contrary to itself, and paradoxical in that it manages to be one thing (pure) and the complete opposite (dirty) simultaneously. I love it.

Buckley gave us music that manages to be classy yet unclassifiable, for this album defies genre or label. Is it rock? Folk? Classical? I’d say it’s musical magic, but that’s too cheesy a description for work of this caliber. Buckley makes an electric guitar sound like an angel’s harp and it’s heartbreaking that we lost this young artist, who surely would have filled our ears with his sweet refrains for years to come. I will continue to listen to this album and hope that Jeff Buckley’s music reaches out and inspires a new generation of songsters, and I’m grateful that Idol (however lame you think that show is) has brought attention to Jeff Buckley and his awe-inspiring work.

When Freedom Rang - A Story of Startup Failure

Today marks one full year since I’ve worked for somebody else. It was precisely 365 days ago that I arrived at work and learned that the company had gone completely out of business. Spent all the money. Didn’t turn a profit. Deep in the red. Over. Done. Goodbye.

Some people, when they lose their job, get stressed out and even depressed. Not me. I was relieved. Let me tell you something about companies that go under. They die. And it’s a slow, painful death. Such an organization succumbs to a disease and that disease is called failure. It reaches out and infects everyone in the company, all its employees, vendors, customers, investors. You can smell the tension and uncertainty as employees become concerned about whether they’ll have a paycheck next month, and there’s an uneasiness in the way everyone talks about the future — next week’s meetings, next month’s product launch, next summer’s industry convention — there’s always an “if” dangling from their lips, as in “if we’re still around.”

Usually everyone knows long before the closure that it’s a looming possibility. It helps to know in advance, because then you have the option of getting a head start on the job search, planning your vacation, or scheduling your upcoming daytime TV lineup. I had about a two-week warning, and that was more than enough. It was a startup company, and I understood the risks involved. It was one of the reasons I had been so eager to take the job in the first place. Startups are exciting, there are tons of opportunities for upward mobility and employees who get in early stand to make a pretty penny through stock options if such a company succeeds. Sadly, they rarely do. If the company fails, then you collect your unemployment and move on. I can be melodramatic and sometimes I overreact, but I’ve worked for two companies that went under and both times I felt like someone had just cut my shackles and I didn’t shed a single tear.

Since I’d been through a startup failure before, I knew what to expect and what to look for.

The signs were all there: upper management starts to disappear one by one, some find work elsewhere because they know the end is near, others get laid off or even fired. They tell you it’s restructuring but it’s really a final desperate attempt to downsize and cut back costs. Workers start perusing the Internet relentlessly as the projects coming down the pipeline slim considerably. A bunch of monitors display glimpses of Craigslist and Monster before their users abruptly minimize the window, realizing that someone’s watching. Managers take long lunches and come back to the office drunk. People stand around, spend most of the day chattering or whispering behind their cubicle walls. Everyone starts coming in late and leaving early. Gossip reaches an all time high, and the thread of decency that makes office professionals behave politely toward one another, even when they loathe each other — well that thread snaps.

It’s awkward to enter a company just before it goes down.

I’d only been there for about seven months, so when the ship started sinking, I hadn’t even settled in yet. I’m what you’d call slow to warm. As a result, I had never really felt comfortable, although I enjoyed the work I did, and loved the products we were making. I found it difficult to relate to most of the people who worked there, although there were a few that I liked and got along with, and I had a cool boss. But I just didn’t quite fit in. I might have, given another few months, but unfortunately, there just wasn’t enough time for me to feel like myself in that place.

It didn’t help matters that I had to sit by a crazy girl who suffered from illusions of grandeur — a curiously evil individual who had a special dislike for me because I refused to let her push me around. She sat there all day slinging veiled and catty insults at me.

I was my own little island, and I often reminisced about my previous job, where I had loved — make that adored — everyone I worked with.

If there’s one thing I know about working in the corporate environment, it’s this: pay matters and the work matters too, but nothing has a greater impact on your workplace happiness than the people you are surrounded by. That’s how it is for me, anyway. With all the tension, my discomfort, and crazy Jane sitting two feet away, going to work every day was less than joyous.

So when I showed up one March morning and found a sign on the front door announcing the company’s termination, I wanted to get on my knees and give thanks to the universe for setting me free. Once inside, I did experience a brief moment of regret, a twinge of nostalgia for what could have been. My boss asked, “What will you do?” My response was completely unplanned, “I think I’m going to start freelance writing.” While the idea had crossed my mind, it wasn’t something I’d considered seriously, and I was a little surprised to hear my own answer. I just never want to sit in a damn cubicle again, I thought, and walked out the door.

And here I am, one year later - a full time freelance writer and web publisher. Granted, it took me about six months to recover and get my little business going, but I did it. Now I’m my own boss and I get to decide who I sit next to. Usually, it’s my cat. Hey, it’s a writer’s life.

So when you get laid off, or the company sinks, know that it’s probably going to lead to much better things. Look at it as an opportunity to take the reins of your life and ride down a better path. That might sound cheesy but it’s true. I’m living proof.

25 Reasons to Become an Animal Welfare Advocate

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The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated . . . I hold that, the more helpless a creature, the more entitled it is to protection by man from the cruelty of man. [Mahatma Gandhi, 1869-1948]

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Animal welfare advocacy is the practice of preventing animal suffering. Being an animal welfare advocate means that you respect, value, and believe in the humane treatment of animals and their inherent right to life. Animal welfare advocates learn, share, discuss, promote, encourage, and otherwise contribute to the welfare of animals. Why would anyone do this? Here are just 25 of the millions of reasons for being an animal welfare advocate.

1. Kittens are cute and puppies are cuddly.
2. Cats make great companions. Dogs are loyal. They will be your best friends in the world.
3. Over five million puppies, kittens, dogs, cats, and other companion animals are wrongly and unnecessarily killed in U.S. shelters every year.
4. Pigs are as smart, loyal, and protective as dogs are and they make great pets!
5. Each year, one million baby cows, or calves, are stuffed into 2×2′ crates, with their necks chained to impede any movement. They cannot turn around, stretch, or lie down. This makes their meat tender and it’s how veal is made. So, when you eat veal, you’re having tortured baby cow.
6. If you don’t know what factory farms are, watch The Meatrix.
7. Studies show that eating a lot of red meat may cause cancer, especially colon cancer.
8. Eating tortured animals cannot be a good thing for you, your body, or your karma.
9. People who prance around in fur are basically draping a dead animal carcass around their bodies. That’s disgusting.
10. Cavemen killed animals for warmth and protection against the elements. That’s survival. Today, people who kill and wear animals do so for prestige because they are ruled by greed. Worse, they are shallow, ignorant, and evil.
11. Animal torture and abuse is one of the early signs of a sociopath and serial killer.
12. People who torture and abuse animals are weak, impotent, dangerous, violent, and should not be roaming around freely in our society.
13. Animal hoarding is a sickness. Hoarders may cause harm to the animals they care for, but hoarders do not operate from malicious intent. They need help and so do their animals.
14. If a man or woman wants to get in a ring and senselessly beat or be beaten by another, that’s their choice. When dogs are put in a ring, they don’t have any choice at all. In short, dog fighting is sick and anyone involved in it should be locked up. Forever.
15. Nobody seems to talk about rodeos and how the cowboys like to torture poor helpless animals. Not all cowboys ride rodeo, but all rodeo riders SUCK because they’ve got no better skills than hurting animals for sport.
16. Animals do not exist for human entertainment. They don’t want to live in a zoo any more than you want to live a prison cell. Sure, some zoos are caring for endangered animals, or protecting animals that can’t take care of themselves in the wild. But marine parks and other touristy animal attractions keep animals and exploit them solely to make money off them. Yes, it’s a lot like slavery.
17. PETA consists of radical animal rights activists. PETA doesn’t want you to eat or wear animals, but they kill over 97% of the animals that enter their care because they’re too damn lazy to find homes for them. PETA needs to be exterminated.
18. Every year in the U.S., people spend tens of billions of dollars on the comfort and care of their pets. Meanwhile, animal shelter workers kill pets because they’re incapable of finding homes for them. This is not euthanasia. It’s murder.
19. Nathan Winograd has proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that animal shelter overpopulation is a myth, and that animals die in shelters because the morons who are running the shelters are too lazy, caught up in bureaucracy, and worried about their own self-image to bother keeping the animals entrusted to them alive.
20. Here’s the human equivalent to declawing a cat: someone cuts off every single one of your fingers at the second knuckle. Doesn’t that sound nice? Because furniture is more important that the ability to use your hands. Everyone knows that.
21. People who have their pets’ vocal chords cut are too incompetent to train them properly and teach them basic social skills like when to be quiet.
22. When you buy a pet online, there’s a good chance it’s going to come from a puppy mill. This is NOT a good thing.
23. Human beings send their children to school for 13-20 years so they can function in society, and this is after they can already understand and speak the language. These same humans think dogs should magically understand every wish and command without any training whatsoever.
24. An animal once saved my life. Maybe one day an animal will save yours.
25. Why be an animal welfare advocate? Because animals have rights. They enrich our lives. Because Gandhi said so. It’s the right thing to do.

Help Me!

I want to grow this list. How many reasons do you think we can come up with? 100? 250? 1,000? Tell me why you’re an animal welfare advocate by leaving a comment. Right now, there are twenty-five reasons. Help me double it!

Disclaimer: I stand behind what I’ve said on this list. However, there are exceptions to every rule. I’ve heard enough stories to realize that extenuating circumstances do occur. Also, for the record, I’m not a full vegetarian. I believe that nature created us to eat meat but that we do not need to torture and abuse it before we consume it. In case you’re wondering, I do eat poultry and fish, but not very often.

American Idol in My Coffee

 

Hi. My name is Melissa. And I’m an American Idol addict.

It all started back in season one. My mother, of all people, turned me on to Idol. “Melissa, you’ve gotta watch this show,” she said. I sat down and took a gander. After a few minutes I turned to my mom and said, “This show is way too cheesy for me.” I snorted and made a few more derogatory remarks. Then Kelly Clarkson stepped up and belted out a number. I cocked my head. “That wasn’t half bad,” I pointed out. “It was really good,” my mom retorted, “she’s my favorite.” I joined my mom to watch the vote-off the following night. It was kind of a rush, watching those kids perform, and then seeing them squirm under the scrutiny of America’s voters. I watched again the next week. And then again, and again. That summer, I attended the concert. I was ashamed, but I was hooked.

On the Wagon

During seasons two and three I got on the wagon. Total Idol sobriety. I spent my weeknights writing and being productive and sneered at the people who couldn’t fight the urge to watch. Idol was just a way for America to mainline pop culture. It disgusted me. I watched 24 Hour Party People, popped the Ramones into my CD player and hit the repeat button. I promised myself I’d stay cool. I was all for the artists, the real ones. Not the American cheese that Hollywood and the music studios were processing and shoving down my throat. That’s not what I was about.

And then season four came along.

The Fall

At first, it was easy to resist. I’ll admit that I’ve got problems, but people who watch the auditions, they’re like dragon chasers. Even I’m not that hardcore. But when it came down to the top 24, I got sucked in. Someone had sprinkled Ryan with stardust, Randy was dope, Paula was a disco biscuit, and Simon… Simon was bittersweet honey oil. Mario Vasquez sang I Love Music. I swooned. Jessica Sierra sang my favorite song from sixth grade: Total Eclipse of the Heart. She nailed it and I was stuck like glue. Constantine sang Bohemian Rhapsody and that’s when I hit rock bottom. I called in and voted. Week after week after week.

I started checking the American Idol message boards. I was scouring the Internet and downloading pirated videos of the performances. I did it in the wee hours, I did it at work. I started to think I could lose my job. And when people gathered around the water cooler to talk about the Idols, I stiffened up, and tried to act casual. “Yeah, I watch it sometimes.” I had to maintain my composure. When Constantine got voted off, I had a hissy fit. And that’s when I knew it had gone too far. It was only supposed to be something I did for fun, a social activity. But the truth was, I’d sunk so low that sometimes I watched Idol at home, alone.

Carrie Underwood took the title for season four, and I was absolutely disgusted. It was like someone pissed in my beer. She has no personality, I whined. Bo Bice was a southern rock knock-off. America, you done Constantine wrong. I was on the sauce and I couldn’t get off. Those first few weeks after the season ended were rough. God, I wanted a fix. The message boards and videos I’d downloaded just weren’t cutting it. I needed the real thing, even though I realized that hiatus was a blessing. Deep down, I knew that the show was getting the best of me. It was interfering with my life. It was Idol or nothing. So after sweeps week, it was nothing. And I vowed I wouldn’t be sucked into the dark hole next time around.

My Cup Overfloweth

I always think of the auditions like soda beer. You know, something like Coors Light. That’s not my kind of poison. I’m more of a dark ale girl, maybe a little red wine every now and then. I need substance and flavor. But by the time season five started, I’d gotten so desperate, I hit the cheap stuff. Watched the auditions. Felt like a loser. My standards were shot, my credibility ruined. I figured I might as well go out and buy the entire Backstreet Boys discography. That’s who I had become. It was pathetic, and so was I.

By that time, my entire family and most of my friends were in it too. Even my grandparents. I don’t know, maybe it’s genetic. I thought about getting help. I even looked into some twelve-step programs, but season five had a stellar lineup. I was hitting it so hard, the entire season became a blur of jaw-dropping acts juxtaposed against what Simon so charmingly refers to as “ghastly karaoke performances.” I don’t know who’s taking more meds, me or Paula. I promised myself that after season five, I’d kick the habit completely. But that show is crack. I was such an Idol junkie by the time season six started, I had completely given up. Now it’s just part of who I am and what I’ve become. And I’ve started smoking and consuming large amounts of caffeine between seasons, just to hold me over.

I don’t think there’s any hope left for me.

But you don’t have to go down the same path I did. Now that I’m starting to accept my addiction I want to help others. I think the key is abstinence. Stay away from Fox on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Take up a healthy pastime like crocheting or painting by numbers. Make that your anti-drug. And when someone asks if you want to come over and watch Idol, for God’s sake, just say no.

I Can Make a Difference?

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When James Chartrand of Men with Pens tagged me to do something nice and then write about it, I thought he was crazy. Okay, I know James is perfectly sane. I’m the one who’s crazy. Because this challenge felt all wrong to me.

At first I thought I could just ignore the tag, pretend like I’d never noticed it. Dum de dum. La la la. But my competitive edge kicked in. I broke into a sweat trying come up with the nicest thing to do out of everyone who’d been tagged. And then, I started thinking of all the nice things I’d done for people in the past week or so, and thought maybe I should write one of those linkbait lists. You know, something like “The 11,000 Nice Things I Did for People This Week and How You Can Make a Difference Like I Do.”

Finally, I got all bent out of shape and left a not very well thought out comment for James.

I explained that this challenge didn’t feel right. Being nice isn’t something I put on my to do list and then blog about. It’s just the way I am. Helping people and being kind is a lifestyle, not an assignment.

James responded: “We’re all good people every day… The idea is creating effect.”

Well James, I don’t know what alternate universe you’re living in, but where I come from, we’re not all good people. Have you watched the news lately? Ever seen an episode of Law and Order (ripped from the headlines)? I mean, didn’t some psychotic bitch at your work ever go out of her way to make your life a living hell? Nobody bullied you on the playground? Stole your lunch money? Made fun of your mother?

I told you I was crazy.

Which is exactly why this post almost became a full blown rant about mean people and why they suck so bad that someone made them their very own bumper sticker back in the 90s. But there’s no point in ranting about mean people, because mean people don’t care. That’s why they’re so freakin’ mean. They don’t give a shit about me, or you, or even themselves.

I’m not only crazy. I am also over analytical, which is a fancy way of saying that sometimes I think too much.

Now that my brain has been to the far side of the galaxy and back, I get it. I really do. James is right. Most of us are essentially good people, but some folks need a reminder to be considerate or thoughtful. Others just need someone to say, hey, don’t rush through life. Slow down and let someone see your smile. Help an over analytical lady like me across the street. Leave a 100% tip. Call your mom and tell her you love her.

So here’s my tag for you. Pay it forward (see, told you I finally got it). Yes, just like in the movie. Let go of your ego and stop trying to be the first one through the door. Find out what happens when you hold that door open or let someone else get in front of you on the freeway. When the person behind you in line has two items and you’ve got two carts full, let them go ahead. If they drop one of those two items, pick it up and hand it back with a grin. Dish out compliments to everyone you meet. Make someone’s day.

Then come back here and tell me how damn good it feels.

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