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A Pace, A Place, A Memory

A Place, A Pace, A Memory

Not many people know that before I became the master of the spawn rearing, I was in the music industry. It explains a lot about my crass sense of humor and my ability to always be one of the boys. Hell, when your demographic is twenty-seven year-old males, it comes with the territory.

I met Steve while working in radio. Someday I’ll tell that story and there will be a nifty little link for you to read about it.

A Place, A Pace, A Memeory

Tonight I was bantering back and forth with a friend on Twitter and a King Missile song was referenced because a) when is an obscure nineties song reference not applicable during friendly banter and b) see: crass sense of humor. We played that song at times on the station where I worked. It threw me back to a time where things were different. Simple things. Every things. All of it.

Not to suggest that I have any sort of distaste for the new life I lead, but, the banter mixed with a splash of an experience at a show last night, made me forget what it was like to be in the world of music. Shows almost every night of the week, networking your face off with label reps, talented artists, and fellow music lovers, sleepless nights, endless days. It was all so fast-paced and devoted. There was no leaving early. Those were your friends up there on that big stage. There was no time to eat or sleep. You just existed in the realm of music, never to be idle because that meant invisibility. You had to be memorable.

The mindset flows through me more than most know. I’ve applied it to my current lifestyle. Never be invisible. Ever. Sometimes, however, your world, and the people therein, do not align with this mantra. There are better things to be done, more important people to see, and you’ve simply done a bang up job of killing time for them until those things were readily available. And this post about missing the music biz, just turned into a deeply profound discontentment with relationships. Amazing how that happens.

The tie-in lies in the reality that when you’re in the presence of the adored, it instills a false sense of self-importance and priority. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, does it not. When you haven’t seen someone for months or years and you have just a few hours to revel in their company, you soak up every damned second of that time. Nothing is more important.

I miss musicians and label reps and music lovers. I miss their mentality. The specialty in seeing one another.

I miss being missed.

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