Jack's Guide (the Renaissance Person's Guide to Survival in a Shaky Economy)

Creative Complaining

I am not by nature a complainer.   This condition could be interpreted as complacency, but on closer inspection, there is revealed a more complex set of issues at play.  (Oh yes, I am assuredly a very deep and complex man, and if asked, I can go on endlessly about why I am the way I am.  But I want desperately for you to like me, so I'll keep my mouth shut.)  The essence of the thing is this:  I will move heaven and earth in order to avoid confrontation; I'll say what I think you want to hear and snuff my real need to strangle you.  The problem with this approach is that eventually I can no longer contain my true feelings, and before I know it, my hands are reaching for your neck (metaphorically, that is- as bad as it can get, I do abhor violence, especially if it carries with it the possibility of physical harm to my own person).

Thus, I have recognized that not complaining can be a very bad thing, especially if I have a legitimate bitch.  It is an absolute truism that "the squeaky wheel gets the grease".  (I don't know who came up with that brilliant line- could easily be a Bob Dylan verse; more likely Ben Franklin or some such...)  If I don't learn how to complain effectively, I'll never get any satisfaction with the things that get me wrapped around the axle. Whenever my boxers are in a bunch, I'd best be quick with my grousing and griping, and the more direct, the better.  But this doesn't mean I must resort to rudeness.   I have met lots of folks who seem superficially nice and pleasant, seemingly thoughtful of the feelings of others, only to observe, in the manner by which they express dissatisfaction, their true nature. 

I am a fan of the Clark Howard method of "voting with your checkbook", meaning that if a product or corporate entity doesn't fulfill as promised, one should spend their money elsewhere.  But sometimes a more direct method (gasp!.... a confrontation) is justified- even called for.  I find it effective and helpful to look at such situations as exercises in creativity.  This is especially efficient when endeavoring to voice annoyance over the telephone.   Hey, any average Joe can be a jerk when protesting poor performance to a faceless voice.  If I take the time, though, to be as nice as I can in voicing my annoyance, I get better results and feel better about myself, to boot.  I know, too, that if it were me on the other end of the line, I'd feel much less inclined to be a hundred percent helpful to a guy making veiled references regarding my parentage.  And if I am unfortunate enough to be dealing with a so-called "customer support representative" who is obviously incompetent or rude (having considered, of course, a completely objective interpretation of such competence), I find it entertaining to be twice as nice, going perhaps a bit overboard in catering to the individual's unpleasantness. This comes in handy especially when dealing with computer and IT support guys who frequently like to flaunt their condescention, treating us mortal beings as only slightly evolved from pond scum.  

Telemarketers are another thing entirely.  When dealing with these people, one must think of them as merely other folks, just trying to make a living.  Besides, these folks must be quite immune to rude responses, having developed the thickness of skin surely required to do that kind of work.  I just last night saw a comic who did a great routine on this, and I'm sure I can't do justice to his delivery, but the essence of it was this:  On engaging one of these guys, you must act as aggressively interested as you possibly can regarding not only the product or service offered, but also the caller's personal life interests, and various preferences.  A few examples:

(Telemarketer): "Hi, I'm calling to let you know you can save thousands in interest by switching to..."  (You, anxiously):  I'm sooo glad you called!  I was just now sitting here worried to death about the thousands I'm wasting on those unholy interest charges.  Did God tell you to call?"

(Telemarketer): "We're making this one-time offer to take advantage of our new telecom package, and...."  (You, breathlessly): "Tell me more about your (pant, pant) big package...."

Get the general idea?

Original Music

I want to do something here that has not heretofore occurred to me to use this venue for, and that is to toot my own horn (not trying there to make a cute play on words, or a pun, or anything like that......) about my music and, by extension, my band.  We are collectively known as 10 degrees Off, and although we play all kinds of cover tunes, mostly bluesy stuff, we do perform a few original songs.  (I like the name of one of the songs by the band King Johnson, to wit: Adultcontemporaryrootsrockbluesjazzfunk, and I believe that also pretty well describes what 10 degrees Off does.) Since I have not yet figured out how to link to individual songs, I am resorting to posting this link to the 10 degrees Off page on Reverbnation.  From there, you should be able to play several of my songs, Existential Genius and What's In It for Me.  Both tunes are merely "scratch" versions, not yet properly recorded and mixed.  But it's what I currently have.  You will find, too, a studio version of a song we recorded several years ago, Change My Mind, written and sung by one of our former band members, Tim Watkins, and arranged by me, with help from the rest of the band.  The other cut on the Reverb Nation page is a demo recorded live at Maddy's Ribs and Blues in Decatur Georgia, and mixed down by me in a primitive attempt to learn ProTools (music recording and editing software).  

Anyhow, I have been guilty until now of neglecting these creative/productive efforts, and am thus correcting that delinquency.  Thanks to my band-mates and to John Tyler at RM Audio, who hauled his mobile studio out to Maddy's in order to record the demo cut.  Hope y'all enjoy!

Urban Muralists vs. Punks (warning- implied expletives....)

Secreted away as I am, very near to the heart of downtown Atlanta, I see more than my share of urban wall graphics, some of which I'd label art, but much of it mere garbage, in my humble opinion.  The latter has become for me a trigger to the immediate detriment of my serenity.  I have an almost visceral reaction when I see the midnight scrawls of whatever street punks put them there, wherein I fantasize fruitlessly about catching the little illegitimates in the act.  I often wondered why my own building seemed immune to this defacing, while all those around me were subject to frequent re-painting.  The answer became evident when a couple of my neighbors, Stan and Dave, managed to actually track down some of the perpetrators, by way of some clever detective work.  Well, maybe it wasn't all that brilliant- the idiots had emblazened said property with "art" that was prominently featured in a nearby "alternative" gallery show, whereby names were named, and one thing led to another.  Stan, who is an ex-marine-looking guy, a body builder and wrestler (the Greco-Roman type, as opposed to the psuedo-teevee variety), tells me he approached the author of the violation at the gallery opening, and asked what the guy would charge to put that on his wall.  He then casually enquired what would be the cost to remove it.  (Oh, to have been a fly on the wall, and witness to much stammering and sweating, I feel sure.)

Talking later with Stan, I discovered a possible reason for my personal apparent reprieve from this urban blight.  My previous tenant was a dedicated skateboarder, and it seems that these citified sportsmen are frequently at the  forefront of the shenanigans.  And as the saying goes, one doesn't s*** where one eats.  I normally hesitate to resort to any variety of profiling, but I must say I look at those burghal boarders in a new and less-than-favorable light.  Perhaps the majority of them are innocent, but running with the pack is often just as dangerous for the straggler as for the alpha male.

The definition of art is subjective, at best, and I would not want to be the one to draw the line between the sacred and the profane.  Living where I do, I can claim to have seen it all.  There are elegant examples of urban mural art to be viewed, and then there is the other, e.g. the scrawl I witnessed recently only a block from my residence, in day-glo green: "F*** your wife, defacing s*** is fun!"  I mean, really.  Fortunately the property owner oversprayed this eloquent message within a few hours, fortunately depriving the gentle diners across the street of such literary wit.

I must admit that back in my younger days, when clambering up a ladder or scaffold was not the torturous affair it sometimes can currently be, I was guilty of accepting money to do some of my own urban mural work.  Since that work came to be published in various newspapers and in Sandlapper magazine (a magazine devoted to life and culture in the state of South Carolina), I must assume that my work, done in partnership with my ole pal Sonny, was deemed socially acceptable.  Here are a couple of examples, both painted exclusively on flat and featureless walls, at close to full size.

Sonny is currently tracking a couple of new (potential) civic mural projects, so I've got to decide whether I can reclaim my old skills and strengths.  In keeping with this blog's theme of creativity and productivity, I hope to be able to do so.

I also would like to display another local example, which comprises both extremes of this type of graphic expression.  These photos show adjacent exterior walls belonging to the music studio of my friend Ken, and they are separately adorned with examples of the two opposites.  Not to claim to be the arbiter of anyone's taste but my own, I do admire the composition and chiaroscuro (for those not schooled in the lingo of artistic expression, that's shades of black and white) of the left-hand effort.  

And of the right-hand scribbles, I am reminded of the quote from my junior-high-school days, regarding fools' names and their faces.  Ken's building was at one point graced by a really impressive statement in the finest urban-muralist style, which was commissioned by one of his offspring (I think as a birthday surprise).  (It ultimately succumbed to the spray cans of the less culturally enlightened, and had to be painted over.)  It proclaimed while it lasted, in magnificent style, "MY DAD ROCKS".  And so do, in my sight, such legitimate purveyors of civic artistic expression.   Of the others, well, Stan and Dave have filed suit against the ones they know of, who are proving to be a wealth of info about their little s***-head buddies.  Plea-bargaining can be a wonderful thing.

For more info about public murals, I can heartily recommend the book Toward a People's Art, which I got shortly after it was published in 1977.

One last example, a couple of blocks from my place, showing both ends of the spectrum.  At least in this case, the vandals had the decency not to paint over the wonderful oriental koi mural....... there is always some hope to be found, if you look for it.