Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Goodnight.

When I started boxing training, you told me a little story. You told me how when you were young, possibly in your teen years about 60 years prior, you and your friends had one pair of boxing gloves between you. You used to go down to the local hang out, choose an opponent, wear one each, and then attempt to pummel each other with one hand.

I remember talking to you about music because I knew that you played the French Horn in your late teens and well into your twenties too. You told me how you couldn't afford to buy an instrument at the time, so you walked into the band club and asked for one. You had a choice, but you chose the horn. You said it wasn't difficult to learn at all because it was merely an accompanying instrument so there weren't any particular melodies to be played. You stuck with it though, I admired that.

One day while playing with the band during a feast, your girlfriend - soon to be wife - my grandmother, was watching you proud. A man shoved past and nearly knocked her to the ground. One minute you were up there playing with the orchestra, and the other you were running towards this man who nearly hurt your most important spectator. You were going to hit him with your French Horn, silly bugger. Luckily your friend held on to your arm before you could. Unluckily for the man who pushed grandma, your mother was also there at the time. She ended up hitting him over the head with her purse yelling at him not to hurt you.

I spent every day every summer until I was 11 years old at your house and still saw you every weekend the rest of the year. You were a man of few words, but the words you did say were generally either amusing, or thoughtful. You did complain a lot, and you didn't like noise, but you still loved every second of when the whole family was there making the noise. We knew it, even though you wouldn't let us have that little victory. Just that smirk after hearing that joke was enough.

Two days before you died, you were in a lot of pain. They gave you morphine to help and you eventually got out of it. The calm before the storm, as it were. When your family asked you how you were, you took a few seconds to think and then calmly said, "Fucking Hell!"

On the 20th January, you passed away surrounded by your children and your wife. I had just left your side after 6 vigilant hours to go home and get something to eat and to take something for my glorious headache. That was just enough to miss your last breath. I was disappointed, to say the least, but I was glad you weren't feeling pain any more. I was also too shocked at the time to be able to express any of that, however.

On the 22nd January we said our last farewell. I stole away from the rest of the family and cried tears of pure anguish smoking a cigarette where you smoked who knows how many standing on the porch looking at the cars.

I'm going to miss you more than anyone can ever begin to understand. Your influence has made up a big part of who I am today. Your stubbornness, your character, your sense of humour. On the other hand, also things like your sensitivity to the negatives in life and your penchant for depression when faced with harsh reality.

I will never forget when we were alone and you waited for my grandmother to leave before you broke down to me. It was just me and you. I would give anything for one more minute alone with you just to try to let you know how much you meant to me, despite not seeing you as much as I should have the last couple of years. I'm sorry I wasn't there often enough. I like to think you knew that I cared anyway.

I love you and I always will.

Goodnight Grandfather, or as I took to calling you, to your amusement, "Trouble".

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Overnight Success

Is it just me that's annoyed at all the little steps one must take to reach a goal? I mean you always hear of these incredible success stories that happen overnight, why can't that be me?

I've been in music for almost a decade now and only now am I getting some sort of success margin. Still it is almost negligible to some local talents, let alone how totally insignificant I feel in comparison to international stars. It just seems to come so easy to some people whereas I've been busting my arse to the point of almost giving up for as long as I can remember. I go to bed after every gig with so much back pain I can barely stand. I've always joked that that's the sign of a good gig, not being able to walk properly for a few days but in reality, that's also how someone feels after getting bummed in prison.

How about writing? I started to enjoy writing as a child. I used to love my English homework, go figure! I always enjoyed all the different combinations of words and all the potential each bloody syllable has to move and inspire. Unfortunately, not really much has happened there either. I've been writing here for god knows how long and I'm stuck. Don't get me wrong, I love the fact that I tend to have an audience to read my rambling and I even get people who have read my things stopping me in person to discuss them. I love every second of it, even the seconds spent defending something I've written which isn't necessarily agreeable. Now I've started writing for a separate website/magazine I'm also enjoying the potential for a bigger audience, but I'm not quite happy yet. There's a lot more left to do.

A hidden desire I've always had is that of acting. I've always gazed with admiration at the actors in film. Any and all kinds of films simply enchant me. I want to be there on screen. I want to have the badass catch-phrases and the side-busting one-liners and all the other hyphenated film-related jabber. However I'm stumped because I can't stand the idea of acting for theatre which is a necessary stepping stone for most acting platforms. It's all down to my need for instant gratification and general apathy for really getting down and working until the last possible minute. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that I can't learn lines for a play overnight like I'm able to learn things for an exam. I also don't have anywhere near the right credentials to improvise any sort of script like I can do during a gig if I forget what I'm supposed to play. It just doesn't happen.

In the end I just want one of those Hollywood success stories. I just don't want to deal with all the hard work it takes to get there. I want to be a global star, as childish as that seems. I now know that as a child I never really wanted to become an actor/singer/writer/entertainer; I just wanted to be famous. I craved attention as an only child and I still do however I want attention when I want it, not all the time. I'm also selective about the attention I crave. I'm a walking conundrum in the sense that I don't want all kinds of attention, just the attention I want. Get it?

On that note, good night/morning the interwebz