TSawyer84
11-09-2009, 12:57 AM
I met this guy named Alex at the coffee shop I talked about in one of my first entries. This guy has a lengthy bio.
After I got fired, I began a period of wandering. I would stay up late, and sometimes just get into my car and cruise the city, maybe stopping at someplace for a midnight snack. I went back to my office a few times, just driving by. I would pass through late at night, and as I looked at my old office building, I remembered what it was like to be there again.
When I was at work, I was always walking across the street to drop papers off to another office a block or so away. In those early days, I had only been dating my girlfriend for a few months. Everything was so fresh back then. I used to have a Blackberry Curve, and would text her every other day. We would flirt like teens, and it felt so amazing. Simple little text messages that made me look forward to seeing someone, and made me feel great to know that someone else was feeling the same about me. I was 23 years old, just another post-grad trying to make a name for himself. I was a clean slate. Nothing too bad about me.
The days would fly by. I was always so busy, and so motivated. Romance was on the rise, as well as my checking account. I was succeeding in everything that I was doing. My relationships were enjoyable.
But every peak has a point, and beyond that things roll steadily downhill.
2008 was a great year. I had started a new job, and I had a sweet new girlfriend. To say I was happy with my life was an understatement.
These days since I've been unemployed my life feels a lot like cruising. You have nowhere to go, but you just want to go somewhere. Sometimes I feel like a drive around town, or a mile jog, to try and get away from my troubles. It never works, but sometimes I end up meeting someone interesting.
That's how it was when I met Alex. This guy was 31. He lives damn near homeless, only sleeping on the couch of a friend. I met him at the coffee bar that I talk about in one of my earlier entries. He was a musician, and plays piano, keyboard and guitar. He was a child prodigy born in Paris, France. He attended the school of music and became a classically trained pianist before the age of 13. His mother was American and he moved to New Jersey at 13. From there he found his way down South and attended the local college. He graduated with a Liberal Studies degree that carried him nowhere.
He said to me, "I could have done other things with my life, but I've always done music my whole life -- it's what I do, everyday."
He was a typical musician. Long hair, goatee, old clothes and spacey personality. Behind his rectangular glasses were eyes that stared off into oblivion. He was very intelligent but painfully soft spoken. He would just mumble stuff with this laid back, Beatnik kind-of tone.
I had met him sitting outside the coffee shop, playing a classical guitar with his friend. We talked about guitar chords, more specifically the II-VI-I chord progression often found in Brazilian music.
I could feel a rapport in talking to him, and he showed me a CD of his that he said he recorded in Miami in 2006. He said he recorded it on a Mac computer and a portable keyboard. We played the CD in my car and talked about music. All of his music was awesome, and so tasteful. His sound was electronic - like ambient, downtempo mixed with jazz and bossa nova. I could hear that this guy really had some talent, but was held back by his absent mind. I invited him back to my house, to listen to some of my music on my ipod stereo and play guitar. He told me to just drop him off back at the coffee shop later.
When we went back to my house I put on some of my music. He picked up my guitar, a nylon-stringed Cordoba, and began playing it softly with his fingers. And then I was amazed, because I would play a song on the stereo, and Alex would be able to start playing it by ear on guitar. I put on the song "Polaris" by Zero 7 and within a few seconds into the song he was feeling it out on guitar. By the middle of the song, he was just jamming along with it.
I told Alex that I had no job, because I had been fired. He said, "You don't seem like the type of person that someone would want to fire."
Over the next few weeks, I would frequently hang out with Alex at the coffee bar. The more he told me about himself, the more it seemed like what he was telling me was only the surface of his nomadic life. I asked him what was the craziest thing that's happened to him and he told me that he woke up in the middle of the desert in New Mexico with 5 shotgun barrels pointed at his face.
He said he plays a lot of different gigs around the city. He told me one time he ended up playing at the city mayor's Christmas party. He said he mostly plays gigs around town and private parties.
I told him that I was a writer and that I'd like to talk with him more and write down some of his stories, and he thought it was a cool idea. So for a while, I'd just go up to the coffee shop and see him there. We'd hang out and he'd tell me about any gigs he had coming up, and then I'd go there and see him play.
One time I saw him play at an art gallery outside the city that had a bunch of rich people eating hummus snacks and drinking wine. I walked in there and saw nothing but good looking older women, decked out in clothes from Jacobson's and fancy pearl bracelets. The men were the intellectuals. They all had blue blazers, glasses and soft gray hair. Through the wine-fueled socializing I could hear the classical piano, coming from a room around the corner. I walk up and see Alex, with his eyes closed and forehead inches from the keyboard, immersed in his playing.
I said, "what's up?" and he awoke from his trance and greeted me with a handshake, as the other hand continued to play the keyboard. He smiled big, and someone came up and asked him about the artwork that surrounded him. Alex fielded the question in detail while continuing to play his classical melodies.
There was a tip jar with about $20 bucks in it that sat on a chair in front of Alex's keyboard. After the show Alex concluded it was a good night because of the hummus, $20 tip, and continuing gig that the art gallery's curator offered him.
I saw a different side of culture and society that I never knew existed. I found it interesting how Alex was connected to people like himself - musicians and artists, who made money off of the rich.
Alex had no car. No home. He squatted among friends. His keyboard and a backpack full of books were the most valuable possessions that he had. He drifted through life making money wherever he could find it. He did the bare minimum but was able to carry on, as long as he had friends and a musical instrument. And he would always have friends, because he has that laid back charm. He's got his story. His life is that of a true nomad. As a self-proclaimed student of life, I wanted to ask him what he has learned so far.
He said, "Just when you think that time runs out, someone comes through. Something happens. It always works out in the end somehow. You just have to go where you feel like you need to be."
Excerpt from Diary of a Corporate Burnout (http://www.diaryofacorporateburnout.blogspot.com/)
After I got fired, I began a period of wandering. I would stay up late, and sometimes just get into my car and cruise the city, maybe stopping at someplace for a midnight snack. I went back to my office a few times, just driving by. I would pass through late at night, and as I looked at my old office building, I remembered what it was like to be there again.
When I was at work, I was always walking across the street to drop papers off to another office a block or so away. In those early days, I had only been dating my girlfriend for a few months. Everything was so fresh back then. I used to have a Blackberry Curve, and would text her every other day. We would flirt like teens, and it felt so amazing. Simple little text messages that made me look forward to seeing someone, and made me feel great to know that someone else was feeling the same about me. I was 23 years old, just another post-grad trying to make a name for himself. I was a clean slate. Nothing too bad about me.
The days would fly by. I was always so busy, and so motivated. Romance was on the rise, as well as my checking account. I was succeeding in everything that I was doing. My relationships were enjoyable.
But every peak has a point, and beyond that things roll steadily downhill.
2008 was a great year. I had started a new job, and I had a sweet new girlfriend. To say I was happy with my life was an understatement.
These days since I've been unemployed my life feels a lot like cruising. You have nowhere to go, but you just want to go somewhere. Sometimes I feel like a drive around town, or a mile jog, to try and get away from my troubles. It never works, but sometimes I end up meeting someone interesting.
That's how it was when I met Alex. This guy was 31. He lives damn near homeless, only sleeping on the couch of a friend. I met him at the coffee bar that I talk about in one of my earlier entries. He was a musician, and plays piano, keyboard and guitar. He was a child prodigy born in Paris, France. He attended the school of music and became a classically trained pianist before the age of 13. His mother was American and he moved to New Jersey at 13. From there he found his way down South and attended the local college. He graduated with a Liberal Studies degree that carried him nowhere.
He said to me, "I could have done other things with my life, but I've always done music my whole life -- it's what I do, everyday."
He was a typical musician. Long hair, goatee, old clothes and spacey personality. Behind his rectangular glasses were eyes that stared off into oblivion. He was very intelligent but painfully soft spoken. He would just mumble stuff with this laid back, Beatnik kind-of tone.
I had met him sitting outside the coffee shop, playing a classical guitar with his friend. We talked about guitar chords, more specifically the II-VI-I chord progression often found in Brazilian music.
I could feel a rapport in talking to him, and he showed me a CD of his that he said he recorded in Miami in 2006. He said he recorded it on a Mac computer and a portable keyboard. We played the CD in my car and talked about music. All of his music was awesome, and so tasteful. His sound was electronic - like ambient, downtempo mixed with jazz and bossa nova. I could hear that this guy really had some talent, but was held back by his absent mind. I invited him back to my house, to listen to some of my music on my ipod stereo and play guitar. He told me to just drop him off back at the coffee shop later.
When we went back to my house I put on some of my music. He picked up my guitar, a nylon-stringed Cordoba, and began playing it softly with his fingers. And then I was amazed, because I would play a song on the stereo, and Alex would be able to start playing it by ear on guitar. I put on the song "Polaris" by Zero 7 and within a few seconds into the song he was feeling it out on guitar. By the middle of the song, he was just jamming along with it.
I told Alex that I had no job, because I had been fired. He said, "You don't seem like the type of person that someone would want to fire."
Over the next few weeks, I would frequently hang out with Alex at the coffee bar. The more he told me about himself, the more it seemed like what he was telling me was only the surface of his nomadic life. I asked him what was the craziest thing that's happened to him and he told me that he woke up in the middle of the desert in New Mexico with 5 shotgun barrels pointed at his face.
He said he plays a lot of different gigs around the city. He told me one time he ended up playing at the city mayor's Christmas party. He said he mostly plays gigs around town and private parties.
I told him that I was a writer and that I'd like to talk with him more and write down some of his stories, and he thought it was a cool idea. So for a while, I'd just go up to the coffee shop and see him there. We'd hang out and he'd tell me about any gigs he had coming up, and then I'd go there and see him play.
One time I saw him play at an art gallery outside the city that had a bunch of rich people eating hummus snacks and drinking wine. I walked in there and saw nothing but good looking older women, decked out in clothes from Jacobson's and fancy pearl bracelets. The men were the intellectuals. They all had blue blazers, glasses and soft gray hair. Through the wine-fueled socializing I could hear the classical piano, coming from a room around the corner. I walk up and see Alex, with his eyes closed and forehead inches from the keyboard, immersed in his playing.
I said, "what's up?" and he awoke from his trance and greeted me with a handshake, as the other hand continued to play the keyboard. He smiled big, and someone came up and asked him about the artwork that surrounded him. Alex fielded the question in detail while continuing to play his classical melodies.
There was a tip jar with about $20 bucks in it that sat on a chair in front of Alex's keyboard. After the show Alex concluded it was a good night because of the hummus, $20 tip, and continuing gig that the art gallery's curator offered him.
I saw a different side of culture and society that I never knew existed. I found it interesting how Alex was connected to people like himself - musicians and artists, who made money off of the rich.
Alex had no car. No home. He squatted among friends. His keyboard and a backpack full of books were the most valuable possessions that he had. He drifted through life making money wherever he could find it. He did the bare minimum but was able to carry on, as long as he had friends and a musical instrument. And he would always have friends, because he has that laid back charm. He's got his story. His life is that of a true nomad. As a self-proclaimed student of life, I wanted to ask him what he has learned so far.
He said, "Just when you think that time runs out, someone comes through. Something happens. It always works out in the end somehow. You just have to go where you feel like you need to be."
Excerpt from Diary of a Corporate Burnout (http://www.diaryofacorporateburnout.blogspot.com/)