Don't Stop Me Now

Things are going well since my last post, which was yesterday. Looking at the time, it was technically two days ago, but whatever.
I did an assessment of my recent experiences.
July 6 - I went to see New Orleans music legend Allen Toussaint.
July 9 - I went to see blues legend B.B. King.
July 16 - I'm going to see both Elvis Costello and The Police. I've re-psyched myself.
July 17 - I'm going to see my old music teacher (and local legend) Joe Simiele perform.
July 26 - I'm going to see John Mayer, and I'm taking three of my best friends.
In between, I've hung out with friends, I'm going to do some songwriting with Emily, and I've got three days left of summer school, which is about to free up my time.
What's more, I've got a legitimate band. Our name is pronounced "fo sho," but we're unsure of how we're gonna spell it. Either "Faux Chaud," which is real French, or "Faux Shaux," which is fake French.
I'm lead guitar and vocals, Justin "White Chocolate" Kent is vocals/drums, and Chris "No Current Nickname" Arellano is bass.
It's blues-rock. Modeled after the John Mayer Trio (big surprise there.), but we throw in some surprises. A little Traffic, a little Black Crowes, a little Panic At The Disco, a little everything.
Things are looking up. I'm on a roll.
In closing, let me present a video.



-Jason

Good Love Is On The Way

John Mayer sums it up best.
Good to go for whenever I'm needed
Bags are packed and I'm down by the door
Those lines are from the John Mayer Trio song "Good Love Is On The Way." The song discusses how the narrator took some time off from relationships after being dumped three years ago, but is now ready to love again, and is kinda desperate.
I can relate.
I've been single for 620 days, or about 20 months (Don't call me weird, I found a count-up clock on the internet). This past year and eight months has given me a lot of time to reflect on my relationship life (or lack thereof).
I know why Rachel and I broke up. Living in different cities, we couldn't see each other as often as we liked when the school year kicked into high gear. It was great while it lasted, and I have no regrets, other than not asking her out earlier than I did.
Since then, I've been the prime example of how not to attempt to start a relationship. I've come on too strong, too soon, too subtle, and I've waited too long. I've done everything wrong, and I've recognized that, and I can't fix it. This is causing my self-confidence to decrease slowly every day.
It's strange. I can walk through a stage door at a David Crosby concert and make conversation as if I hadn't sneaked backstage. I can approach Wavy Gravy at a restaurant, having recognized him without his clown makeup. I can perform Adam Sandler's "Hannukah Song" in front of 1,200 of me peers without cracking under the pressure. I can do all of these types of things, but I can't bring myself to face possible rejection.
I often find myself criticizing other people's relationships. "They're just like three-year-olds!" "He's such a terrible boyfriend; he never compliments her!" "This will never last."
Mostly, these comments are out of jealousy. I probably liked the girl in the relationship, and then found faults in their relationship so I could claim beyond a reasonable doubt that I would obviously be a better boyfriend, and that she should obviously be with me.
I say these things for me. I need reassurance that I'm a good guy, and I don't get it from anyone else.
When typing that last sentence, I thought "Why doesn't anyone reassure me? Am I a terrible person?" I don't think I'm a terrible person. Whenever I get these thoughts, I open my yearbook and read my favorite testimonial, which I will type up here:

Jason, Jason, Jason... I've known you for about 2 years now? I think I can honestly say you're one of the most interesting people I've ever met. :-) Haha but really, in a good way. You always are there to make situations more fun and never hesitate to break an awkward silence. You are freakin' *RAW* at guitar & you don't brag about it. :-) You're also an amazing actor. I've had so much fun being in West Side Story, Beauty & The Beast, & Fiddler On The Roof with you. We've been brother & sister, semi-enemies (ahh I forgot High School Musical!...ahaha), & we've both fawned over the same guy (not like that, I'm talking about Gaston...ahaha Phil). It's such a blast to work with you & be around you. One of the great things about you is that you take different routes than other people (ahaha "The Road Not Taken"), not on purpose, but because you do what you want to do, not what everyone else does or what other people want you to do. I'm really glad I'm friends with you. You're really a great guy; you're very considerate of how other people feel. You always know how to make me laugh until I can hardly breathe & am basically falling on the ground. You always come out of bad situations with a smile. Really, I don't think I know anyone that can handle drama/trouble/everything the world can thrown at you, better than you. With that said, you have to deal with way more than you deserve. With all your talents & your *sparkly* personality, I know you have a bright future & I hope we'll still be friends so I can see you become the wonderful man you will be. Don't let anyone ever convince you that you are something you're not because you really are a great person. I hope you'll look back on these years and think of me as fondly [cheesy old person word] as I will think of you. :-) I love all the great times we've had. "Have you seen old people?" Bason Jerk, you are a great Jew and a great friend. :-) & I will always remember your PB&J's on challah. Thanks for putting up with me all this time.

Kristin wrote that, and it's one of the sincerest compliments I've ever received. I've read and re-read it over and over, amazed that someone regards me that highly.
When I was writing in her yearbook, I hadn't seen her message yet, and I couldn't put into words how much I'm constantly blown away by her talent and personality, and how I love her [as a friend]. I couldn't verbalize it, until I read what she wrote. I feel the exact same way, except for the Jewish part and the guitar part. She's a beast at piano.
Anyway, I'm rambling on about her rambling.

New subject?
Sure.
Whenever I'm preparing for a concert, I listen almost exclusively to that artist. I did it for Paul McCartney, Simon & Garfunkel, Steely Dan, Aerosmith, and The Police. For this upcoming concert, Elvis Costello & The Imposters and The Police, I listened to six different Elvis Costello albums to familiarize myself with his brilliant work, and I got really excited, even more so than for The Police, as I've seen them before and know what to expect.
Then we got the John Mayer tickets.
I'm not gonna lie. He's my all-time ultimate hero. He's one of the most influential musicians I've ever heard. Don't believe me? Listen to "Room For Squares." He's also one of the greatest guitarists I've ever heard. Listen to "Try! John Mayer Trio Live in Concert." I basically love him and everything about him. I got his new live album "Where The Light Is" and that got me re-hooked. I am currently on a John Mayer binge, which is a bit of a problem. The Elvis Costello/Police concert is in two days, and John Mayer's not for another week and a half. I psyched myself for EC/The Police too early (February) and, with the help of John Mayer, kind of un-psyched myself. Don't get me wrong, I think Elvis Costello's a brilliant songwriter and Sting's a great singer, but I'm more looking forward to John Mayer.
Perhaps it's because I'm going to the JM concert with Chris and Emily and Gina, whereas I'm going to the Police with my family, or perhaps it's because we have lawn seats for the Police and real seats for JM, or just for no reason at all, but I'm super-duper-incredibly-bad-writing-made-up-words excited for John Mayer. I <3 style="font-style: italic;">Scrubs
But seriously folks.

-Jason

Good Love Is On The Way

Losing My Religion

Or, more accurately, my faith in humanity.
Summer School's a bitch.
Especially when it's not your fault.
Well, not entirely. But if you were brought up being told, "do the hard homework first, and save the easy homework for later," then you'd do your biology, your algebra, your french, your P.E. study sheet, your drama monologue, and then Mr. Stein's english homework. Well, you would if you're me, and not somebody with the I.Q. of a wet towel.
That's how I did it, but I overshot it. I put off the english homework until it was too late. Doing this too many times caused me to recieve an F from what would seem like my dream teacher, a Jew from New Jersey who loves to talk. He sounds like he'd be the older version of me. Except I have a brain. His introduction to teaching us the Hero's Journey involved watching the made-for-TV version of "The Odyssey" while eating a hero sandwich. Needless to say, I wanted out.
Second semester, I was placed in the Media Academy english class. Higher placement than regular english, but not quite EXP. I was fine with that. In fact, I was so fine with that, I recieved an A.
The summer passed with no inconveniences, excluding the little shits that joined High School Musical camp expecting Zac Efron to whisk them off into the sunset on a unicorn that looks like Vanessa Hudgens. Another year passed, taking with it the realization that I needed those 5 credits at some point, and I might as well do it this summer, because I wasn't doing drama camp for the first time in eight years because of the aforementioned little shits.
I reluctantly agreed.
Big mistake.
My teacher, Mr. Douglas, has been doing an activity called "Possible Selves" where we try and figure out what we want to do with our lives, and how we're going to get there. I know all that. I want to be a world-renowned successful musician (a down-to-earth term for "rock star") and I have several plans mapped out on how to do that. May I remind you, I'm not a failure.
Mr. Douglas asked all of us to write it down. I obliged, but most of the other kids decided they had better things to do with their hands, and that they'd rather just talk about it, loudly.
"N*gga, I'ma be a coke dealer, n*gga."
"Yeah, n*gga?"
"N*gga yeah. N*gga, I'ma be a kingpin, n*gga!"
Notice how they bookend their sentences with the N word. This is what I have to endure, four hours a day, five days a week. Most of the time is spent yelling at them, the rest listening to Sissy Spacek read "To Kill A Mockingbird," during which time I sleep, having read the assigned chapters at home.
I almost feel bad for these kids.
Almost.
One kid was talking about how his 38-year-old dad is divorcing his 25-year-old stepmom. This lets us know that they have broken home lives, made obvious not only by the divorce, but by the fact his stepmother is closer to his age than his dad's.
He proceeded to talk about the time he smoked a blunt that was laced with crack cocaine.
Nice classroom talk. And you know the N word was all over that story.
Ten more class days...

It's amazing how crappy life has been since the glory days, here described by Bob Dylan:

"Back to the Starting Point! The kickoff, Hebrew letters on the wall, Victor Hugo's house in Paris, NYC in early autumn, leaves flying in the park, the clock strikes Eight, Bong - I dropped a double brandy & tried to recall the events... beer halls & pinballs, polka bands, barbwire & thrashing clowns, objects, headwinds & snowstorms, family outings with strangers - Furious gals with garters & smeared lips on bar stools that stank from sweating pussy - doing the Hula - perfect priests in overhauls, glassy eyed Insomnia! Space guys off duty with big dicks & duck tails all wired up and voting for Eisenhower, waving flags & jumping off of fire engines, getting killed on motorcycles whatever - We sensed each other beneath the mask, pitched a tent in the street & joined the traveling circus, love at first sight! History became a lie! The sideshow took over - what a sight... the threshold of the modern bomb, temples of the Pawhee, the cowboy salute, the Arapahoe, snapshots of Apache poets searching thru the ruins for a glimpse of Buddha - I lit out fur parts unknown, found Jacob's ladder up against an adobe wall & bought a serpent from a passing angel - Yeah, the ole days are gone forever and the new ones ain't far behind, the laughter is fading away, echoes of a star, of Energy Vampires in the Gone world going wild! Drinking the blood of innocent people, Innocent lambs! The Wretched of the Earth, my brothers of the flood, cities of the flesh - Milwaukee, Ann Arbor, Chicago, Bismarck, South Dakota, Duluth! Duluth - where Baudelaire lived & Goya cashed in his chips, where Joshua brought the house down! From there, it was straight up - a little jolt of Mexico, and some good Luck, a little power over the grave, some more brandy & the teeth of a lion & a compass"

On second thought, maybe it's all relative.

I want to conquer it all, and be respected for all of it.
I want to be in music, primarily.
I want to write, but I don't want people to buy my books just because they like my music.
I want to draw and paint, but I don't want people to buy my artwork just because it's by me.
I want to make movies, but I don't want people to see my movies because they're by me. Because then, I'd have the next "Crossroads" or "Glitter" instead of the next "A Hard Day's Night."
I want to teach a class, but I don't want people to sign up for it just because I'm teaching it.
I want to conquer it all.


Why do people buy t-shirts of a band they've never heard of?
And why do people thing voting McCain is a great idea?
Why are people so gullible?
If I show my summer school teacher the paper proving I scored 100% on the english multiple-choice section of the CAHSEE exam, will he let me stop going?
What about "Tha Carter III" makes it a masterpiece, compared to actual masterpieces by Brian Wilson, Beethoven, and The Beatles?
And most importantly,
What's so funny about peace, love, and understanding?

-Jason

Losing My Religion

Zebras are Reactionaries, Antelopes are Missionaries...

Someone told me it's all happening at the zoo.
I do believe it, I do believe it's true.
Not to sound emo, but music's my only friend. I went to Rozy's party yesterday. After Shohei and Emily and Monica and The Attic Sounds and Rozy and Megan played, I went up. I'll admit I was nervous, but for all the wrong reasons. I wasn't nervous because the spotlight would be on me. Frankly, I love that. It was the I feared they'd overanalyze my songs, like I do. I tell people too much. I trust them too easily. And then I write a melody and put down some words, and realize that it can be interpreted to be my feelings on the latest drama, which it's often not, but the sad part is that I realize these things first, and end up not playing the song. I was going to play 5 originals yesterday. I ended up only playing 3. I also played 5 covers. It's a fair statement to say that every good song has been written, but, then again, John Mayer's still cranking out things, Paul McCartney's got a good song every so often, and Brian Wilson can write three notes that pwn my entire body of work. And he probably wouldn't say pwn. And it's not just melodically, but lyrically. And there are few better lyricists than the irreprehensible Paul Simon:

Time it was,

And what a time it was,

It was...

A time of innocence,

A time of confidences.

Long ago...it must be....

I have a photograph

Preserve your memories,

They're all that's left of you.

Sheer genius. John Mayer's lyrics are usually amazing, Elvis Costello's got some fantastic stuff, but this is the highest you can get. It's poetry. Dickinson's got nothing on this:

Old friends,

Old friends,

Sat on their park bench

Like bookends.

A newspaper blown through the grass

Fall on the round toes

On the high shoes

Of the old friends.

Old friends,

Winter companions,

The old men
Lost in their overcoats,

Waiting for the sunset.

The sounds of the city,
Sifting through trees,

Settle like dust
On the the shoulders
Of the old friends.
Can you imagine us
Years from today,

Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange
To be seventy,

Old friends,

Memory brushes the same years,

Silently sharing the same fear....

It's not long until school lets out. 24 more days in school. It's a scary thought, knowing there's two years and 24 days until I'm legally done with school. I'm just getting accustomed to this school, and to this year's classes and teachers, and POOF.

Good things about next year:

• Being an upperclassman/Seniority
• No 0 Period P.E.
• Madame Gutleben/Not doing anything in French class
• Driver's Licence
• APUSH
• A job
• More privileges

Bad things about next year:

• Still not being a Senior
• 0 Period Chem
• Madame Gutleben/Not learning anything in French class
• Gas prices
• APUSH homework
• A job
• More responsibilities

  I want to write. I don't want to be a writer. I want to write some piece of music or poetry or fiction that's so unbelievably emotional, so powerful and understated, that I can't believe I wrote it. I have the tools, all I need is the inspiration.

-Jason

At The Zoo

It's Getting Better All The Time

Today was good.
In fact, it was damn near grand.
It was the kind of day that was exciting, even though nothing happened. We were all a little jealous of Brendan and Nathan, because they saw Mike Dirnt [of Green Day] walking down Park Street yesterday after school. We then became mad at them, because they didn't say anything to him. That was exciting.
Kelly is now the interim President of Drama Club. Donny has stepped down, partially because he's not in the drama class anymore, and partially because his schedule's been hectic. When we hold elections next week, everyone will vote for Kelly to be next year's president as well, and I'll run for Vice President, because I'll have seniority next year (technically it's Juniority, but that just sounds stupid) and because I love drama (the acting kind, not the school kind).
We worked on Alky in Drama class, and all [three of] the freshman and some of the stupid sophomores are working themselves into a shit because they think they'll be so cool if they're actually drinking on stage.

Summer school aside, I'm pretty psyched for summer vacation. The day after we get out of school, I'm leaving for Cleveland for a week. I'm seeing Fastball (remember them?) at the Alameda County fair July 1st, Elvis Costello [for the first time] and The Police [for the 2nd time] at Concord (excuse me, Sleep Train) Pavillion on July 16, and John Mayer at Shoreline Ampitheater on July 26.
I'm having a bit of trouble psyching myself out for The Police concert, mostly because I've seen them already on this tour and I know what to expect (the set list, the lights, etc.). I am, however, unbelievably pumped to see Elvis Costello. Like, supremely pumped. He's mastered every genre of music that exists (because rap is not music). He's done classical, rock, disco, techno, pop, country, baroque-pop, funk, everything. He's a musical encyclopedia.
I'm also supremely juiced for John Mayer, partially because I'm taking three of my best friends with me. Chris is for-reals a John Mayer fanatic, Gina's never been to a concert and loves JM, and Emily also loves John Mayer (she almost went to see him with me at the Bridge School Benefit concert in October, but had to stay home), so this is to make up for that, and because she's awesome.
I'm so psyched, I'm already having dreams at night about the concert, just like when I psyched myself out for Disneyland and had two months worth of Disneyland dreams leading up to the actual trip.

But seriously, folks, Mike Dirnt! Holy crap. I probably would've shit myself. Actually, probably not, but I would've at least asked him for an autograph and a picture with him.
Come to think of it, I may have seem him on Park St. on a different occasion. Apparently he's a regular at the Peet's, so chances are I saw him, thought he looked familiar, and carried on with my life.

Oh, well.

-Jason

A Simple Hello.

Today was pretty good.
And I realized something.
My real, true, close friends are the ones who say "hi" to me when they see me. Even just passing me in the halls. I realize these people are the friends I have no complaints about, the friends who are nice and sweet and smart, and who unload their drama on me, because they know I'm a good listener and they can get good advice from me. They are the friends who keep their plans, and who make plans, just to hang out. We share secrets, we cry on each other's shoulders, and we just talk about what's going on in the moment. The friends who ask me to sing because they like my voice, not because they like a certain song. The friends who ask me to perform at events, not because a full band cancelled, but because they like my music. These are the friends I really love, and they are the people care who enough to say "hi," without anyone having said "hi" first.
I love these friends to death.

As far as my other friends go, I'm trying to get out of any label that's been stuck on me. I'm spending a little more time thinking before I speak, and a little more time listening and really comprehending what people say, so I can bring these things up later and share a nostalgic laugh. I want enough respect that these people will say "hi" as well.

And don't get any ideas that I'll like you just because you say "hi" to me. If I didn't like you before, chances are I won't change my mind because of a simple hello. It's not a magic wand that can be waved, it's just a signal that my friends give to show their appreciation.
It's amazing what a simple hello can do.



I had to make up the English portion of the California High School Exit Exam (CAHSEE) today. As soon as the bell rang, I went straight to the cafeteria, and sat there for half an hour before Mrs. Porter finally shut up about why we need #2 pencils. I finished the first multiple-choice question and the essay portion in about forty-five minutes. I took a nap for over an hour before I heard Mrs. Porter say, "For those of you still working on the test, you have half an hour left."
Half an hour later, we got a break. A five-minute break. We sat back down and took the second multiple-choice section, which took me less than 30 minutes. I continued onto the questionaire ("What do you think you will do if you don't pass the CAHSEE?" It's impossible to fail), turned in my test, and was permitted to leave. Sweet Jesus.
I went to the last ten minutes of history, then choir.
Thank God we did sectionals in choir. We [the guys section] sang through the material once and goofed off while the girls kept singing. The guys' part to "O Fortuna" isn't hard, no more than four notes, so we were home free for 86 minutes.
In drama, we cast Alky, the play about teenagers at an alcohol-filled party. Instead of being cast as Tay, the persuasive alcoholic who sets his girlfriend up to be raped, or as Ira, the musician who's been drinking beer since he was little, I'm in the background as Kid #2, which is fine. I'm glad I don't have to say any of those god-awful lines ("A brewski for me-ski!"). And the best part is the ending, in which four people die and one person is permanently mentally damaged. Three of the people are hit and killed by the narrator. Spoiler alert! It's one of those plays with a moral, so it's not like the audience doesn't see that coming.

I'm going to start analyzing and explaining my songs tomorrow. I'm sure you can't wait.

-Jason

The Aura Of Happiness, Vanished?

It's Emily's birthday.
She's 18.
That got me thinking. At midnight, childhood disappears. Forever. The moment it's your eighteenth birthday, any thoughts of you as a child instantly vanish. No more "You don't know anything. You're just seventeen." Now you get the "Well, she is eighteen, I think we can trust her."
How weird does that feel? One second, you're a child (albeit a teenager), the next you're [legally] an adult. You can have sex with other adults and neither of you can be tried (sans rape). You can vote. You can buy cigarettes (but why would you?). Realistically, though, the birthday is just the celebration of having not died for the past 365 days. And Emily's celebrating having not died for the past 6,574 days.
And the day you turn eighteen, the wonderful U.S. Military sends you a giant packet of crap about why you should join the army, navy, coast guard, army reserve, navy seals, the circus, et cetera. Because you're eighteen now, you're obviously mature enough and qualified to hold and operate a gun and kill people for sport. You're obviously more mature than you were yesterday, when you were a know-nothing seventeen-year-old. Here. Have a beer. Oh, that's right. You're not 21. Well then, just have this rifle, this ammo, and this box of active grenades. Have fun, try not to get hurt. You're still young. You shouldn't be drinking. Just go kill innocent people in the meantime.
Seriously, Army?
You're seriously going to do that?
Boy. I really don't feel safe right now. Not that I don't trust Emily's judgement. She's smart enough not to join the army and she's not one to be near guns. Except water guns. Just because you're an adult doesn't mean you're grown up, right? Right.



I'm starting to enjoy math class. It's an easy period to nap in and not miss anything. She usually just makes Corny Indiana Jokes the whole time.
I'm almost tired of history class. At this point, she's just repeating herself when it comes to directions for the research paper.
I'm about to crack in english class. I just can't take it anymore. Pardon my french, but we're not retarded, you nasal-voiced asswipe. And I've had it with Nick. For reals. Wipe that stupid grin off your face and contribute to humanity. Can you do me a favor and not be a dick?
I'm getting kinda bugged in French class. We're doing waaay too much, but maybe it's because she knows that we won't learn as much in "Madoom's" class next year.
I'm pretty tired of choir. I'm actually glad I'm not doing it next year. Hidalgo's just too quiet when he talks, and when we don't hear him, he flips a shit and yells at us: "Three rows, ladies and gentlemen. Three rows. Three rows!" It's enough to drive someone mad.
Drama's still fun, though.



I did a bit of thinking over the weekend, and I figured that it was just a phase I was going through, and I don't like her like that anymore.
But I talked to her today, and I realized "No, I still really like her. A lot."
And I guess I'll just have to wait until her phase is over.



To my friends: I'm tired of going along with the "awkward" thing. I'm just tired of it. It's a role I've fallen into, like "annoying," back in elementary school. Sure, I might have some awkward moments, but who the fuck doesn't? I'm tired of some of you being a bitch to me "because it's fun" or because I "won't argue back." One of these days, real soon, I will. Stop groaning at everything I say that could possibly be a double-entendre, especially when I don't mean it that way. Stop holding something that happened a year ago over my head. Stop being a shit about it. What's done is done. Stop interrupting me to talk with someone else about a youtube video of a cat falling asleep while I'm in the middle of a story. Stop making me be the guy you invite to your house only because everyone else ditched you. Stop making me change my plans so we can all do something, then change your mind at the very last minute, so that I have to re-rearrange. Stop thinking I'm stupid because I had a terrible math teacher a couple years back and therefore are currently in geometry. Don't be nice to me only when I remind you I got you John Mayer tickets. Don't take everything I say so seriously, because when I am serious, you might just think I'm kidding.
Fucking enough already. I might be a little younger than you, but I'm old enough to know when people are being total assholes.
I have to put up with this on a daily basis. A lot of times the only person I like is myself.
And people wonder why I'm cocky.
This doesn't apply to all of you. Just some of you.
I love you all dearly, but this has got to stop.
Glad to get that off of my chest.


Happy Birthday, Emily.
You're the best. And none of that applies to you.

-Jason