The Hazel Project

One night Tim and I were walking down sunset in Hollywood to see a band and the smell of the street was particularly pungent. It reminded me of that smell in New orleans around Pat O’briens in the French Quarter. We walked past one club with a velvet rope, tended by a bouncer and very beautiful woman outside with cell phone in one hand and cigarette in the other. She was wearing a form of that quintesstial camisole (sp) a garment I’m still trying to understand the purpose of. But it looked different on her. Maybe it fit properly or had it hand made. It looked really good for once, I noticed. But what caught my attention was this amazing perfume she was wearing.

It was subtle but drowned out the septic smell of the street in such a way I stopped after walking a few yards. I told Tim, “That woman smelled wonderful!”

Tim laughingly says, “oh? go tell her that then!”

Of course I regret from ever mentioning this to Tim, and he ups the ante straight to “triple dog dare.”

Tim says, “You go tell that beautiful woman you dig her perfume and I’ll buy you a shot of Jagermeister.”

“mmm”, I thought to myself, “that sounds expensive.”

With hands in pockets thinking about how to frame such a statement, I go back up to her, She looks like a 1979 Cheryl Tiegs clone; Her skin only knew perfection, tall, straight blonde hair, Charlies Angels sunglasses, and I say,

“You know, My friend and I just passed you and I wanted to tell you that your perfume smells great.” I opted out saying she smelled better than the street.

And her reply?

“Oh, thanks honey, that’s sweet”,

It seemed like she’d pat me on the head too if I stood any closer. I walked away smiling, thinking how she was all dressed up, having a smoke outside the club waiting to be entertained by men ten years younger than me, and of considerable means.
All of them caught up in traffic.

She seemed bored out of her mind, but knew her gig well, whatever that was. Apparently for me it was exquisite use of a perfume that went way beyond anything I’ve passed at an Estee Lauder counter.

So Tim is anxious to know what she said and I told him she called me “Honey”. Of course Tim thinks this is hilarious. And I do too.

We begin to talk about when it happened in our culture that men felt like they were unable to give a woman an honest and sincere compliment. You know without them feeling like some boundary was being crossed, and the guy was simply coming on to them. Even now I feel like I have to defend my intention of a simple compliment.

Tim makes good on his offer and we toast to a different way of gender communication. In a Sam Keen sort of way. I enjoy a free shot of Jagermeister, that begins to taste like dessert.

Thanks for checking in everyone.

Stephen A. Thomas

I talked to Larry tonight who encouraged me to post this story. I’ve been stuck so I appreciated the encouragement.

This morning, I saw a homeless man walking across the Mcdonald’s parking lot while I was in-line for a cup of decaf.

He had two dogs. They went willingly with him although they were tied to a makeshift leash. It was obvious they wanted to be with him.

It made me miss my dog Bella, who would probably resist the prospects of being homeless.

Some of you know about my Silky Terrier named “Bella”

Dig this vibe:

Holiday season of 1999. I was in my “Trilok Gurtu” phase of sitting on the floor while playing percussion as well synthesizer. It was at band rehearsal I was introduced to a 6 month old puppy. She scrambled up to me sniffed out my gear then plopped in my lap. At that moment I was a man with the most unmasculine dog imaginable. Loyal to a fault, Cute but curious, 6 inches off the floor, she looked like an “Ewok”; and truely, MY dog.

Her actual name was “Belle”. I learned this later having read the AKC papers. The previous owners seemed to pronounce her name with an extra ‘A’ so I called her ‘Bella’ It infuriated me that she seemed to be unresponsive to this. Was she deaf? Obstinate? Then it clicked!

OHHH she thinks her name is ‘Belle”.

Okay. I’ll be blunt. Bella was a holy terror as a puppy. The reason we got her in the first place was because the people she had been with could not handle her. They thought she was cute. And she was. but man! She was smart in all the wrong ways too.

Bella, chewed up everything in sight. Especially things that were expensive.
We found out Bella was the product of a puppy mill and purchased at the Raleigh flea market. Sadly, a lot of in-breeding goes on there. Nevertheless, we were determined and had excellent resources. Peg, Dan’s wife, had a Dog whisperer guru friend in Raleigh named Lynn Lake. (who I hope ends up reading this). Lynn ultimately suggested crating Bella and taking her to Canine Good Citizens class.

So we did. And it made a world of difference. Of course this was after we had to replace our kitchen floor on 2306 Lyon street in Raleigh.

When Bella showed signs of being released from separation anxiety and teething. We thought we were in the clear. Then came the fight for pack order.

She and our alpha pup, ‘Chelsea’, would get into Cujo-esque fights. Scary stuff. In fact we recieved more than 1 phone call from dog sitters regarding Bella’s ‘turns’.

Apart from that she was wonderful, loyal & fun dog. She loved to play, and just be shown attention. Mostly she dug the acknowledgement that she had a toy, any toy, then would go play on her own for hours. Then surgically remove the squeeker from the toy. let the toy exist a few days. Then dismantle the white stuffing. I vaccummed Metric Barge Loads of white plush toy stuffing.

Throughout the tenure of canine rescue, Bella had a difficult time finding her place. She was always the littlest dog with the biggest hutzpah!

In 2005 I inherited Bella for good and she settled down quite a bit. She was thankful to to be the Alpha finally. We became the epitome of a one dog family. One man and One dog. One very cute small dainty dog. Looks are edeceiveing though. She could rip a hole in a car tire!

She became an endlessly loyal friend. Always tolerated me going to work. And rejoiced when I came home everyday at 3:30 to take her on a walk down to Park drive. I’d sit and meditate on a bench in the middle of gorgeous tree canopy, and she would sniff. and mark. everything!

She’d curl up at my feet at night, sometimes share a pillow, while coast to coast would play for hours through the night. One night I woke up with her literally on my head. Claiming her spot on the pillow.

Most of all she’d just sit in on my lap while I sat in that red chair for hours on end. Just wanting me to be there too. She knew we needed each other in a most profound way.
She also knew our time together was limited somehow. Every once in a while she’d give me one of those looks that said:

“I know you have to go, and I’ll be alright.”

mixed with,

“That doesn’t mean I have to dig it!”

It was within these moments I knew she understood her gig and she understood mine.
Better than I understood my own.

I’m sure at some level other dog owners know what I’m talking about.

Earlier this year, when I considered moving to Los Angeles; a pivotal event happened on Memorial day when my brother Phil called and said, “Let me take care of Bella so you can do what you need to do.”

I cried.

I guess he knew.

Phil knew I was conflicted about moving because of Bella.

She needed a home.

AND she needed an operation. Bladder stone removal. $1400.

Well. How things turn around.

Phil called me about a month ago and told me this amazing story:

He came in contact with some people in Florida who knew a widow trying to adopt a Silky. She flew up. Stayed with Bella while she had the operation, paid for it and then took Bella back to Palm Beach.

She had been widowed about a year ago.

Two years prior to her husband’s death, they lost their own Silky Terrier.

Their Silky Terrier just happened to be named ‘Bella.’

Phil is telling me this while I’m looking out at the night skyline of Los Angeles.

With speechless gratitude!

To the common thread that allows us to be our best selves.

Thanks Phil.

Thanks Bella.

For everything.

Stephen A. Thomas

So Davak sent this link to me last night.

http://www.coverpop.com/whitney/index.php
I was mesmorized.

I enjoyed the largest dot the best because it took it’s time.

I also played around with the microtonal and hand crank version.

Make happy.

Stephen A. Thomas

As requested by Larry, A few pictures of ducks!

I also incluuded a picture of the real”Yom Kippur shoes” standing on top of a manhole. And a cat. This in honor of Linda’s dad who still refers to an indvidual as a ‘cat’.

Unrelated to any of the pictures. From what I understand, Linda’s dad also coined the sentence, “Oh, the street where Steve gets the tickets.”

I’m still waiting for Raleigh city council to change the name from “Glen Eden” to “Steve’s Speed Trap rd”

Truth be told it was only one ticket.

Thanks to Larry for the advice on navigating that one!

So to my good friends Larry and Linda and their two musically gifted kids!

I’m using shareware to upload this so go grab a snack.

It takes a long time.

enjoy guys.

duckmovie2

Stephen A. Thomas

So I’m writing to basically say I’m at a loss to know what to write. And have been all week.
Later this weekend I may upload some pictures from a walk I took around the Echo Park pond. This was last night at sunset (of course). This has become one of my favorite things to do. Walk around the neighborhood at sunset and take pictures.

I spent a large part of yesterday getting motivated for more of the same. I bought a map, pinned it to the wall, and plan to hit the streets closest by me for another a gig. I’m paying close attention to my approach and judgments. Quite honestly there have been many this week. That light I spoke of in earlier posts is turning into a spotlight.

Revealing old edges. I’m amazed at how & when they pop up. I

Last night I recorded a new song. This one has a chirpy little drum pattern and lyrics. Catharsis you know. I’ll share it with you when it’s ready.
That’s about it guys,

Thanks for checking in. Have a great weekend!

Stephen A. Thomas

The disclaimer here is that the story I worked on yesterday for a long time was supposed to be a video about my experience at the Synagogue.

But when I uploaded the video this is what came up. Me playing around with the “Ken Burns effect” in i-movie. Somehow I turned it off and that’s why a few pics are out of frame. I’m letting you in on this because:

1. I hope you think its funny.
2. lets you in on the amount of stuff I filter for this blog and why it takes so long for me to post stuff. Instead of everyday. So I’m working on letting myself be more vulnerable.

Enjoy the L.A. montage.

Yom Kippur Shoes Pt2

Stephen A. Thomas

I was in 5th grade when I discoverd TOTO. I saved my allowance to buy the first album and devoured it.

Just beginning to play drums, there was was very little in the form of instruction in Vicksburg MS. I remember one night listening to ‘Goodbye Girl” over and over. Something just clicked with that tune in my preadolescent brain. I went to my dad with my TOTO record jacket in hand, pointing to the picture of the drummer, and said “Dad if l learn how to play like this guy will you buy me a drumset?”

I sought out everything the cat played on after that. Then I figured out that he played on, with at least 1/2 of the other TOTO members, every other record that came out between 1975 and 1990. That’s how it seemed.

So the 80’s. A period saturated with the smell of auqanet and leather in my high school. I was learning from Jeff Porcaro records: how to listen: How to internalize the form and vibe of a tune; that drumming was about making music; about a pocket, about vibe; instead of who could play the fastest paradiddle.

Jeff was my idol, in a time when such were hard to identify. As I was growing up he was such a huge inspiration during a time in the South where musical inspiration seemed rare. It’d probably be weird for him to hear that. I remember reading Modern Drummer interviews where he came across uneasy about such talk.

Now it makes sense to me. He was a guy doing his gig, bringing the best creativity and intention to each session. That gig just happend to have a huge impact on American music and musicianship. That’s my own biased take anyway.

His death deeply altered my perception of things. It signified the beginning of the end of the session musician; which was my dream gig as a kid.

The news of his death made me think of a larger picture of connectedness. Even through radio airwaves or a turntable needle. All the while being grateful for the time he spent making contributions to drumming, & music.

He raised the bar higher than I think he gave himself credit for. That’s just a sign of a guy approaching his gig with humility and gratitude right?

The one thing I wish there was a recording of is his laugh. Only in words and through other musicians stories have I heard about how a laugh had the power to set the vibe, and break tension, at a recording session.

Music for me has taken a differnt turn now from drums towards synthesizers and electronics. The fact remains however I learned an incredible amount of unteachable muscianship from Jeff Porcaro. Even though it was through hours of attentive listening, my own ‘loppy’ form of practice, and reading every article I could find on his art and his band Toto.

Thanks for checking in.

Stephen A. Thomas

Hello again,

I made a short video clip of me and my unclean room. Please comment if it works, or if there is a problem so I can fix it. Could be some cool possibilities for later.

movie test

Here’s a little something I put together for the Quarterly report post.

I referenced Steely Dan’s song ‘glamour profession’ to capture some vibe.

It’s an edit I put together with pro-tools. It’s short, 1:49.

This is for those of you who would like more concrete examples of what I’m talking

about. And a chance for me to practice pro-tools, admittedly.

Thanks

Stephen A. Thomas

I know how T is about shoes. So I hope you dig it T.

The lady I rent my room from asked if I was interested in attending a Yom Kippur service with her at the synagogue. I was blown away. It was the first time I’ve ever been invited to a synagogue or an event like that. The Jewish high holidays are a big deal and particularly Yom Kippur; since it’s about asking forgiveness from others.
A few days before Yom Kippur which began at sundown Sunday Oct. 1st. and lasts past sundown the next day. And there is a service both nights. That was all I knew. To help me out I’d been given some Yom Kippur literature to read and 5 Orthodox laws and customs before the sunday service. They are:

1. You may abstain from food & drink.
2. You may abstain from bathing.
3. You may abstain from sexual relations.
4. You may abstain from jewlery & leather. Including leather shoes.
5. you may abstain from oil or perfume adornment.

So I’m reading all this and I’m getting the vibe of it.
Number one kinda threw me a bit but I could live without eating for 24 hours. Number two I could participate if everybody at the service was smelling funky. Number three has been ridiculously easy.
Number four was the one that got me; All my shoes are leather, even the sandals,
I’m gonna need appropriate shoes.

So I walk to Sunset blvd. and find the ‘Discount Shoe Warehouse’, and sit down in front of the Converse isle.

I was excited for two reasons. I’ve always wanted a pair of Converse and these shoes are perfect for the Yom Kippur service because they’re made of canvas. Plus, they’ll help bring me one step closer to blending in my environment.

I noticed all colors & all types. I want black. Just black. There were black with black toe, black with white toe, black plain, black hi-tops, black with skull and cross bones. After 30 minutes of effort getting hip to style and size I look in most every box to find the last pair of 9 1/2 black hi tops. Now for the the moment of truth. Lacing them up!

The display shoes on the shelf have this new style of lacing that I think 3rd graders invented. It’s about having the string laced horizontally from hole to hole all the way up the shoe; instead of crossed laced. Of course in order to fit in and raise my hip-ness factor I want them laced that way.

My mind takes off:

<>What if I saw “hoopnotica” at a party?
(their must see video lives here:)
http://hoopnotica.com/welcome
They’d say-”dig the lacing job on those black hi top converse…what’s your name? do you play percussion?”I would be oh-so-pleased with my Converse purchasing decision.

The truth is after many minutes of experimenting with this arcane lacing method I became flustered. Apparently what looks simple on the outside makes a twisted mess on the inside. This is either for knot theorists, to figure out. OR a very young person. So I took my carefully selected black, white toe, hi-tops to the teenaged employee.

I think I was freaking everyone out taking so long. But this was important; I wanted to fit in!

She found my “moderno lacing” request endearing, smiled kindly and took my box of shoes to her friend; another teenager hanging WEEKEND SALE signs. Her friend knew immediately what to do and worked on my shoes about 12 1/2 minutes. During this time I walked around looking at different brands the Warehouse carried. They also sold clothes that seemed to be way in style. A style that I particularly wanted to stay away from.

I go to check on the free lacing job. She did good work. They looked perfect, with all the laces down instead of all twisted in the middle. I look inside the shoe and it looked like a quilt had been made on the right side of the holes. I tease her and ask if I’m going to be able to get my foot in there and she says ‘yeah… well er maybe.’ Then she just dismissed it and said, “if you need them laced up again just bring them back and I’ll do it for you.” I felt like Kramer when he hired his own personal intern. My own personal Shoe Lace Assistant!

I paid my $32 and change. The cashier was so pleased I was finally leaving the store she gave me a free CD holder to clip on my VW sun visor.

And now I was ready.

To go to Yom Kippur;

then start an “emo” band.

Have a good weekend everyone.

Stephen A. Thomas