I found my best friend from K-3, Nicole on Myspace. She lived across the street from me in Mt. Lebanon (Pittsburgh) and our moms were best friends, too. Then, Melissa found me because I was on Nicole's Myspace friends list. Melissa was in Blue Birds and school with us. She was the first person I met in Kindergarten and we used to get separated during nap time because we wouldn't shut our mouths. When our cat had kittens my parents gave Melissa the one I wanted to keep. Then, because I was on Nicole's and Melissa's Myspace pages our old friend, Michelle found me. She said she still lives in the neighborhood and when she passes our old house she always thinks of slumber parties she attended there to celebrate my birthdays.

It is fun finding old friends but I'm finding it makes me a little sad as well, especially having just returned from Pittsburgh, a city I adore, 2 weeks ago. Life in Pittsburgh is very different from most other places. If you're reading this and have never lived there you'll think I'm remembering something that is idealized, but that is not the case. The city is thriving, the suburbs are a gorgeous mix of rustic and urban. People rarely leave so friendships are long-lasting and roots run deeply. Imagine what a loving and stable environment that is for a kid growing up. The homes in our suburb look more like little English cottages. The people fanatically love their city and will be the first to tell you what a high quality of life it is.

I feel robbed because I didn't get that upbringing. Interestingly, my sister said the exact same thing to me a few days ago and I hadn't mentioned how I am feeling to her. I look at Nicole's, Melissa's, and Michelle's Myspace pages and see that nearly all their friends are kids I went to school with in K-3, before my parents tried a last ditch effort to save their marriage and moved us to Maryland. And nearly all of them still live there. I wonder what my life would've been like had we stayed there. Instead, we made a pointless move to Maryland and my parents bailed anyway after barely 2 years. From there, Mom took us to Louisiana and it was a disaster. Rachel and I grew up fending for ourselves, trying to survive while all our old friends grew up together.

Dad and I walked at the track at Mt. Lebanon Highschool, which would've been my alma mater had we stayed, and the whole time we were walking all I could think about was how much I would've liked to go there. And now I'm home and reconnecting with people, and it adds to that feeling. We're all pushing 30 and the rest of them are still friends, and not just online because of Myspace. When I look at their online photo albums they've got tons of pictures together. I wonder what would've happened if I'd grown up in that situation. I'm not normally a whiner nor do I normally look back with regret, but after the trip over Christmas I was left yearning to be back there. And now, after seeing everything I missed that feeling has intensified. It's useless to think about it but I can't stop myself for some reason. I wish we'd stayed there, in our English-cottage house nestled among the hills. I wish I'd grown up with all of my old friends, because even if my family fell apart as it did after we moved, it would've been easier to handle with all those friends. Instead, Rachel and I were thrust into a situation where we couldn't focus on being kids because of our home life. I can't help but feel badly about it, especially given what a mess my sister is.

Time flies

Dad and I had a wonderful time in Pittsburgh. We kicked off the festivities with Christmas dinner at the William Penn hotel downtown. It's one of those grandiose city hotels, which had reservation-only seatings for dinner. We were booked for the 6:00, which was the last. The meal was four courses and we had 3 choices per course. Both Dad and I were surprised at how fine the cuisine was; neither of us had particularly high hopes for a restaurant holiday meal. Following dinner we walked the city for 1&1/2hrs. I haven't been there in 4yrs, since my grandmother's funeral, and before that it had been several more years since she and Pops moved to VA Beach. My fondest memories in life are of Dad, Grandma, Pops, Uncle Kenny, Rachel and me hanging out at the house on Carnegie Drive. I miss the people, the house, the suburb (Mt. Lebanon) and the city alot.

The rest of the time was spent shopping, visisting old haunts, walking the city, visiting deceased family at the cemetary and meeting up with Bob. He's a friend I made online at a favorite singer/songwriter's website. I made a comment online about originally being from Pittsburgh, which prompted Bob to write me. I told him about Dad and Dad about him, and b/c they both love Pittsburgh so much they were encouraged to write e-mails to each other once in awhile. Somewhere along the line Bob became a good friend and we were thrilled to find out he'd be visiting family in Pgh. while we were there hiding from our sadness over losing Patrick. Bob's family invited us to a family dinner at their home in Moon Township, which turned out to be a highlight of the trip. Everyone was warm, friendly, funny and caring and we had a marvelous time with them.

On the way home from Pgh. we stopped for an overnight in Roanoke with Dad's best friend, Yolanda and her husband, Bobby. They have a mountain-top home so I was in heaven. The next day we drove to GSO long enough to grab my cat and then continued on to VA Beach. Since returning to VA Beach we have socialized a ton. We had an overnight in Porstmouth on NYE with Ike and Larry, attended a brunch party at a neighbor's house, went out to dinner w/Dad's friends, entertained one of my friends, and had some of Dad's friend's over. In between I've been studying for my doctoral comps. I got talked into doing this degree when I basically didn't want to do it. I figured I'd learn to like and appreciate it, but 5yrs later I still don't have much respect for the whole thing; therefore, I'm extremely annoyed by the studying. Oh, well, when I'm done with this there will only be one hurdle left: the dissertation. I wish I cared more about the accomplishment that is soon to come but I really just don't give a damn.

Getting the hell out

My six weeks are up! We have a three week break from quintet now, and words can't convey how happy I am about that. Dad arrived in Greensboro around 4:15p.m. on Christmas Eve. I had to leave at 5:00 for 7&1/2hrs of quintet fun, but I cooked shrimp etouffee for him so he could have a nice dinner in my apartment. We leave for Pittsburgh in 5hrs. Because Christmas was always just Dad, Patrick and me we decided we couldn't bear to sit around Dad's house and go through the motions with such a huge hole in our lives. So, we decided to ignore the holidays and instead use our money on a trip. We're going home to Pittsburgh and I can't wait. Though I was raised in Louisiana beginning in May of my 10th year I still consider Pittsburgh home. It's where my heart is, probably in part because I hated being in Louisiana and lived for my yearly visits to Pittsburgh, which continued after my parents divorced. We'd have our visitations with Dad in Pittsburgh so we could see my grandparents and Uncle Kenny, all of whom have died in the last four years. I'm really looking forward to this break in the city. I can't remember the last time I was out of town in a fashion that didn't involve either the quintet or staying at a family member's/friend's house. I hope being there will take some of the sting out of our recent loss.

It's supposed to happen to someone else

Patrick, mydad's partner was murdered. He'd been dead a week before we found out. I was worried that we hadn't heard from him, but Dad was more aggravated than concerned. Patrick had a tendency to disappear when things were rough, and he'd gotten some bad news the week before. Dad always told Patrick that he understood if he needed to be alone, but to please check in so we'd know he was at least okay. Dad said many times, "Something could happen to you and we'd never know it." Sure enough, that's exactly what happened.

We don't have much in the way of details. He apparently went down to do some work on a condo that he owns with another friends. Patrick and friends/family would buy up property, he'd decorate it (he was a very talented designer), then they'd turn it over for profit. Nobody knew he went there on Saturday, a few hours after we talked to him. His body was found Tuesday morning, his family was notified on Thursday afternoon and we found out Saturday morning. I had to leave town with the quintet five hours later. We had three shows in about a 22hr period, and those performances were the worst thing I ever had to do.

I loved Patrick. Alot. He was fun, loving, generous, silly, warm, sweet, and gentle. He made Dad's and my life so much richer. Even had I known all those years ago that this would be the end, that we'd have to go through this intense pain, I'd still have chosen to have had him in our lives. It was impossible not to love him and he brought so much joy to us. I can't imagine never seeing him again, never hugging him again. Patrick gave the best hugs. He'd always hold on just a little longer than normal, as if he didn't want to let you go too soon. But he did let us go too soon. Somebody forced him to when they hurt him. You know these people you see or read about, whose loved one was murdered and then they go on and on about how they're not angry at the perpetrator, they forgive him, or maybe they even love him (b/c of course that's what Jesus would do, right?)? Well I think they're full of shit. I'm so angry I wouldn't be able to control my actions if I got my hands on this bastard. They'd have to pull me off of him. How dare somebody hurt Patrick? They took him away from his four children and from us and from countless other friends and family. That is not okay and I hope this asshole pays for it, dearly. Life without parole would be great, and if that's what happens I hope he lives to be 125yrs old.

And what lousy timing, when the quintet is in the early days of a 6 week period of constant bookings. Not that the timing would ever be good for this, but I should be with Dad right now. I'm tired of never being with loved ones when they need me, and it's always because of the damn quintet. I don't think I'm cut out for this lifestyle because there's more important things than performing, and the message I'm getting from the instrumental performance world is, "No there's not." I disagree with the "show must go on" lifestyle. When someone you love like family is murdered you should be allowed to grieve and go home to be with others who loved that person. Me, I'm in a damn van on my way to do a three shows for a bunch of strangers. I've got to figure out what I'm going to do with all this. I'm 29yrs old and I'm a damn good trumpet player. All my education is centered around that and it's really the only skill I have, but I'm starting to have no appreciation for any of this. And you can't be a musician if you don't give a shit anymore, can you?

Tori Amos is bothering me

She won't get out of my head. She has been there for sixteen years. She torments me, yet I need her. I think she is one of the most brilliant songwriters out there; she has a way of grabbing you by the throat and making you listen. If you have the patience for her puzzles then you find yourself completely transported. She sends you running towards pain yet away from it at the same time. I don't know how to explain her effect on me without sounding crazy. I find her ability to reach so many people incredible, especially considering how abnormal her writing can be. I couldn't stand her when I was first introduced to her through "Crucify," which eventually became one of my favorite songs. Fifteen years later I'm still every bit as likely to not care for her work as I am to love it; however, I trust her 100% when it comes to music, and because of that I know she won't compromise her standards. If I don't like, chances are the problem is mine. She has issued a challenge and it's up to me to be smart enough to figure it out, appreciate it, and maybe even love it. There is only one song in her repertoire of over 500 songs that I have never been able to appreciate it. I won't tell you which one. Perhaps someday that will change, maybe not. I really hate it. =)

I met Tori on November 13th. After a 16 year wait I stood in line by her bus for three hours, jammed in with other adoring fans. I have tried this before with no luck, yet for the first time I was nervous all day at the prosect. I just had a feeling that would be the day, and it was. In fact, I was so nervous that I almost chickened out, yet I knew that would be a stupid thing to do, and a decision that would cause me much regret since she won't be touring for another 4yrs, at least. I was shocked by how low-key she was in person. She was kind, soft-spoken, and very approachable. I've heard this before but it's hard to believe when she is so off-the-hook creatively. I've always taken her for a nut, but there was no evidence of her onstage persona when she was talking to us outside the stage door. I am so thankful to have had the chance to meet her after being so deeply connected to her music for over half of my life. I'm also thankful that her songs have been with me for so long, but sometimes I wish she would just go away. Her lyrics constantly pop up, or a melody begins to swirl around in my head. Sometimes I won't evcen know which song these sounds come from, but I know it's her. I listen to hundreds of other artists but nobody else grabs me like Tori Amos does, and she drives me crazy.

Tornados

This Louisiana girl is a North Carolina transplant. Louisiana's got better food, hotter weather, larger bugs, and violent storms. Last night I had this dream that took place in NC. We had 6 tornados in one day, and no matter where I went I was in the tornado's direct path. It looked like one of the last scenes from the movie "Twister," where Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton are tied down and the tornado is swirling over and around them.

For the first tornado I was in the woods with my sister. We jumped off of a small embankment because if you're outside during a tornado you should get to the lowest ground; usually a ditch if you're in Louisiana. Rachel was having a hard time holding onto the tree trunk we wrapped our arms around so I climbed on top of her and shielded her with my body. We made it and were back in civilization whent the next tornado hit. I couldn't get to Rachel and she ended up being killed by the tornado. For the fourth there were lots of people around. I saw my mom across the way with her oxygen machine and had the realization that she wouldn't be able to hold on.

I'm sure this is representative of my family situation. My sister is so out of control with booze and drugs that I can't imagine her body being able to withstand much more. My mom is suffering from end stage Emphasyma. I figure the dream was my mind's way of telling me I can't save them no matter how hard I try. I of course came to that conclusion a long time ago, but apparently my subconscious mind is not as willing to accept it.

Why

I keep a Myspace blog which keeps everyone up on what I'm doing, but I find that I censor it alot. I'm a private person and there are some things I just don't want being used for discussion among acquaintances and friends from real life. Another problem is that sometimes people from real life make me mad and I want to write about the situation, but then they'd read it and I'd be considered passive-aggressive, which isn't the reason I like to write things out. So, this will be my real blog; the one where I don't have to be shy because nobody from real life will likely happen upon this.