A few years ago I ran into a friend from high school that I had always had a crush on. He asked me out for the dubious “Coffee Date/Non-date” and I was thrilled with the prospect. We went to my favorite SD coffee shop and settled in for a night of catching up and chatting about life. Everything was going smoothly…
When I was living up in LA after college, I traveled to Hollywood several nights a week for lame open mics, crappy shows, and good shopping. I lived the typical LA life—I worked in a restaurant and played shows at night. I lived with two awesome roommates in a tiny apartment and spent a lot of time writing music, listening to records, and riding my bike. Glorious. So what does this have to do with Soup? I’ll tell you…
I debated for a long time about whether or not to add a ‘misadventures’ section to my blog, since I enjoy sharing my ‘Awkward Stories’ at my shows. I tell them pretty much the same way every time. When I find the right wording for a story, I keep it. I get the story-telling gene from my grandpa Skid. When I was little, my grandpa would tell me stories late into the night about his experiences growing up in Alaska, fighting in World War II, and firefighting in downtown Seattle. He would drawl out his words in the funniest way!! He says things like ‘de-luxe,’ and ‘what a beauty!’ and ‘wowee!’—it’s pretty much amazing.
Anyway, I decided when I checked my statistics and found that lots of you live in other countries, that it would be great if you could hear some of my amazingly awkward stories. It will probably be quite some time before I get over to Finland, Turkey, etc., so it’s only fair that you get your chance to hear favorites like ‘The Soup Story,’ ‘The Stir Stick Story,’ and others…
I hope you enjoy them, as I am humiliating myself for your benefit.
I have finally finished my 5th endeavor; a project entitled “Cowley Road.” Started in May of 2007, it took a total of ten months—the longest I’ve ever been able to spend on a project. Aaron Bowen, a noted singer/songwriter/producer in San Diego & a good friend of mine, took on my E.P. with enthusiasm and great ideas. With an ear for quirky sounds, the ability to play pretty much any instrument well, and years and years of experience in the studio, Aaron was the perfect person for me to work with. I’ve never been so happy with the sound of my voice on a recording as I am with this new E.P.
“Live through this and you won’t look back… Live through this and you won’t look back…” –Stars, ‘Set Yourself on Fire’
Sometimes I have these days that feel like weeks and weeks that feel like months and so on. This week was like that-all muddled and jumbled, seconds and minutes having identity crises and emotions tweaking out all over the place. It all started… (Read on …)
“You don’t like yourself, do you, Gayle?”
“Yes, I do.” Do I? “I do like myself.” Why is he asking me this? Do I seem like I don’t like myself? Maybe I did before, but now? I thought I did like myself. I’m much more confident now than I was.
“You don’t like yourself.”
“Yes I do.”
“What do you like?”
“I’m smart, and really creative… and, and I’m funny. And I’m a good musician.”
“Those things may be true, but it doesn’t mean you like yourself.”
“Well, I do. I enjoy my own company.” What the heck is wrong with him? Is he trying to psychoanalyze me? Is he asking this because he heard what I said about him and thinks I said it because I was trying to make myself feel better about myself or some such ‘Saved By The Bell’ nonsense? Maybe he just sees through me and as much as I try, he can still see that I struggle with this. NO!! I have gotten over this. This may be a battle for me, but he has no right to say this like it defines me.
“Well, I hope that’s true.”
Does he? I hope he does. What are his intentions in asking, I wonder?
——-
“Why are you tapping your fingers like that, Gayle?”
“What?- oh. Sorry.” Nervous habit, forgot myself for a minute.
“Are you trying to make me think you’re cool?”
“No. It’s a nervous habit.” Was I? No, I think I could think of something better to do if I were trying to make him think I was cool. Do I care what he thinks? Well, yes and no. But would I try to make him think I’m cool by tapping my fingers? Heck no.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Quite” you jerk! “It’s a nervous habit. Ask anyone who knows me.”
“Hmm.”
ARGH. Why am I here? I can’t believe I’m here. And I can’t think of a thing to say. Tap tap. Seriously. Why am I here?
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