Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

Year 11

something like life

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I’ve got this elaborate editorial calendar telling me what to write and when to post, but if I just stick to the calendar that sucks a bit of the me out of the blog, eh?

Life continues to be a non-stop whirlwind of communications and music, which is exactly what I’ve always wanted it to be, so yay for the continued status quo! When not in actual rehearals I’m writing songs (for the soundtrack to Eric Smith’s novel), a novel (for NaNoWriMo), and a blog (just because, and for NaBloPoMo).

As it happens,Gina is also writing songs (at the moment, as a soundtrack to Boardwalk Empire), a novel (she’s the one who convinced me to do NaBloPoMo), and a blog (she is not the only one of us who exerts peer pressure).

I think this is pretty much what I imagined our adulthood would be like as a seventeen year-old, except for I’m married to someone way hotter than I imagined and Gina is engaged to a lawyer.

Speaking of: Elise, who has the same hectic rehearsal schedule as me but less of the writing, has starting painting the house in approved non-vomitorious colors. I think it’s very “nice” that she’s painting, which is to say I think painting (and, in general, decorating) is something people with too much money and spare time do to occupy themselves.

The only photographic evidence of us as Lucas and Corey from Empire Records, courtesy of our friend Tina, who was such a perfect Rachel Berry that it was a little disturbing. Note E's gold star, awarded from Rachel.

(Lest you think I am debuting this sideways insult of my wife here on the blog, she’s been hearing it for years. I’d wager she’d be happy if I just blogged about it and stopped whining about it in the house.)

As someone with neither money nor spare time, the whole process is perplexing to me. She had to use special gray primer on our dining room walls, which took an entire day to paint on and when she was done I was like, “Awesome, it’s gray, can we leave it like that?” and she had to explain that it was just the primer.

I’m all about gray. I think grays are totally exempt from every being vomit-inducing. Now the dining room is cranberry. I hear that’s supposed to aid in digestion, so I stood in it while I was eating raviolis before rehearsal last night. I ate them pretty quickly, but I think that’s just because I hadn’t eaten anything for about 22 hours. I’m not sure about the digestion angle.

The one downside to my constant flurry of words and sounds is it doesn’t leave a lot of time to interact with people I’m not writing or rehearsing with (or for taking things out of the dryer, but that’s another story). I think my next availability for a dinner with friends might be in December.

A snapshot of the last ten days of my life: Saw three concerts (one in New York), rehearsed three times, started three new songs for my soundtrack to Eric Smith’s book, tried to find a way to post three times daily here at CK (still working on that), wrote almost 7,000 words for my NaNoWriMo novel, and dressed as Lucas from Empire Records for a Halloween party.

Oh, and occasionally ate, slept, and watched 30 Rock.

If you did more than that in your last ten days then I want to know what else you could have possibly fit in and kind of vitamins you are taking.

Please note: methamphetamines do not count as “vitamins.”

But I Regress, pt. 6

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We’ve reached the penultimate chapter of regression to full-on thirteen-year-old, only with my own house and a much higher credit limit. Last time I tracked my geekdom from a manageable low tide to being reignited thanks to a visit to Brave New Worlds comic shop.

Get ready – we are about to dive deep into comic book nerdness.

Scarlet Witch losing her tenuous grip on reality - and on her face.

I thirstily devoured my newly Civil War trade paperback – loving the more-grounded, less-spandexed take on the comic book world. But where were my X-Men? Unlike the video game Civil War I had just played – complete with Cyclops and Jean Grey – here the X-Men were nowhere to be found.

A little internet sleuthing revealed the X-Men were largely holed-up at the mansion during the civil war, recovering from the worldwide reduction of mutants from thousands to a mere 198 thanks to M-Day.

M-what?

M-day was the result of House of M, when an unhinged Scarlet Witch commanded “No More Mutants” after she was forcibly evicted from her pleasant alternate reality where Magneto ruled a mutant-centric Earth.

Um, okay? Sure. Meanwhile, Jean Grey was in my video game, so was she back to life?

Emma & Jean ... not exactly fast friends.

Apparently not – Grant Morrison killed her both Jean and Magneto in 2003 during his run of New X-Men, the same one that cemented Emma Frost as an actual X-Man. Except, now Magneto was an X-Man too and Marvel was hinting at a Phoenix return with their new character Hope Summers – a pint-sized mutant Messiah who was the only new mutant born post-M-day. Hope was an infant then, but was promptly whisked away to the future by Cable to protect her from a murderous Bishop, who was sure she was a sign of coming apocalypse (little “a,” not big “A”), and now she was about to return as a not-so-tiny teen that looks a lot like Ms. Grey.

What? WHAT?

I spent the weekend surfing comic sites, trying to make some sense of the convoluted comic history that occurred since I gave up in 1996.

I was about to move into a new house where I could actually have packages delivered, so maybe I’d catch up on a few comic books. Maybe just Uncanny X-Men? From issue #1 to where my collection started, and then to present day. Surely Marvel’s flagship title was entirely collected in trade paperbacks, easy to obtain from my friend Amazon.

Right?

Emma Frost and Hope Summers. Like a car crash, this is so disturbing that I can't seem to look away.

And, hey, even if there were some holes to fill with single issues, surely there was some straightforward guide to X-Men trade paperbacks that I could refer to somewhere on the internet.

Nope.

Nowehere. On. The. Entire. Internet. Try to wrap your head around that. The vast expanse of internet replete with its hard-core complement of geeks was devoid of a definitive guide to X-Men trade paperbacks.

Oh, I searched. I had forty-seven tabs open in my browser, trying to make sense of a tangle of Essential X-Men and Marvel Masterworks and Omnibuses and Premiere Editions. I found an out-of-date continuity site, the patchwork archive of Uncanny X-Men dot net, litanies of lists on Wikipedia, and a slew of lists on eBay and Amazon.

Lots of pieces, but no whole: a single, comprehensive website that tracked every X-Men comic from issue #1 to issue whatever. A guide to collecting X-Men comics as an adult. A logical, sequential explanation of how to catch up in TPBs instead of unwieldy, expensive single issues.

It simply didn’t exist. So, of course, I had to build it.

And I did – in less than two months! You can check out my guide to collecting X-Men now, but to hear how it came together, and how I came to own ten years worth of X-Men TPBs in a fortieth of the time, you have to tune in to one more installment!

How to succeed at (the (video) game of) life.

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My life is a lot like a video game, and this blog is a lot like my life, because this blog talks about my life and thus resembles it.

(My musical other half Gina debates the topic of life being like a video game in a song, asserting that “there’s no extra lives, you don’t get big from a magic mushroom, and you don’t find coins in an underground room,” but let’s leave that argument aside for a moment.)

The timeless style of the Red Mage

I remember the first Final Fantasy, for Nintendo. It was my (and millions of others’) first exposure to the concept of an RPG. Sure, older kids had played some D&D by 1987, but that was the demonized (heh) occupation of confirmed nerd. FF brought that nerd-dom to the spoiled kids who already had their own NES.

(Nope, no bitterness there.)

In the original Final Fantasy each character was an archetype: Fighter, Thief, Black Belt, White Mage, and Black Mage. That meant you were good at that one thing, and mostly that one thing only.

The exception was the Red Mage. He could cast black and white magic, plus fight a little. Oh, and he was styling with a long coat and a pimp-hat.

This seemed like the perfect solution to six-year-old me (and probably a lot of other people, too) – why waste time with characters who are only good at one thing if you could have one that’s good at three? Why not just have a party full of Red Mages?

Of course, game developers realized this, and so the Red Mage wasn’t quite as kick-ass as we had hoped. He could fight, but not as well as the Fighter. He could cast spells, but not as advanced as the White and Black Mages. A party full of them would rock at the easy levels, but probably wouldn’t stand a chance in the end-game.

In effect, game developers rewarded specialization. The jack of all trades wound up the master of none. Also, he had a branding problem – we called him a “red” mage, but wasn’t he more like a grey mage that could also hit stuff?

(The myth of a character that’s good at fighting and hurling powers from a distance continues in video games to this day, called a “Tank Mage.”)

Maybe six-year-old me liked the Red Mage so much because I was a Red (Tank) Mage. I was good at science and math, strong at writing and social studies, and eventually on stage in plays. I’ve always delighted at being self-sufficient, which meant being good at everything.

A decade ago if asked to describe my strongest skill in one sentence, none of my friends would have answered with the same “Peter is/does [x].” I didn’t have a brand. I went on my merry way, doing everything, but I wasn’t the greatest at any of it.

That’s the story of my blog, too.

November is Na[tional] Blo[g] Po[sting] Mo[nth], a month which challenges us to blog daily. It sounds easy, but you have to maintain it through Thanksgiving! And, in some years, through getting engaged to your wife!

This year for NaBloPoMo I’m trying something a little different. I’m branding Crushing Krisis. Up above us my tagline reads:

The collected crushes of Philly singer-songwriter Peter Marinari
(The longest-running blog in Philadelphia, est. 2000)

I’m setting an expectation – this blog is not a Red Mage. It’s about the things I love the most, Philly, and being a musician.

So, this month it’s going to be exactly that. And, just like a video game, I get a new chance at it every day.

Take that, Gina.

Monday Music: The Best In Philadelphia

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I have some major musical links to unleash on you this Monday! The musicians are local to Philly, but they can rock you in any remote location due to the power of the internet.

Behold: The Best Songwriters in Philly & The Best Indie/Alternative Bands in Philly. You can spend your Monday (and many subsequent days) getting to know the eighteen artists on those two lists, all of whom are certified awesome by yours truly – both handy guides were written by me!

Now for the story behind the links.

A few weeks ago a national producer from CBS reached out to me to see if I would be interested in writing a number of “Best in Philly” posts for their newly-launched CBS Local guide to Philly. This is the mysterious “freelance assignment” I’ve been blogging and tweeting about.

It took awhile to nail down the topics I’d write, but from our first exchange it was clear that one of them would be “Best Songwriters In Philly,” and that I’d be restricted to 10 songwriters, tops.

The topic and accompanying restriction made me nervous. I have literally dozens of favorite songwriters in Philly. How could I fairly get them down to ten?

In the end I was working from a list of 20+ potential candidates to get down to a group of nine that felt right. I left off many favorites because I couldn’t explain them in 100 words, I wasn’t sure if my opinion was biased, or they simply didn’t fit with my final list – which turned out to be:

Since I have so many more words to expel about that nine and so many left-over favorites, I’m hoping to expand upon the article here at CK in fits and starts.

In the meantime, check out the CBS Local version, plus my Alt-Bands article, and these four other hyper-local music-lover guides:

28 years, 51 weeks: pt. 5

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Friday, September 16, 2010. 28 years, 51 weeks, 4 days.

I awoke early and energized on Friday.

Our gig was good, if lightly attended, things at work were under control, and I had a Filmstar rehearsal in store for me in the evening. The only challenge would be leaving work early enough to pick up my repaired bass before the shop closed.

I tried to get to work obscenely early for some uninterrupted time at my desk, but had to burn another disc for our charity campaign – this time for another talent show rehearsal I was running on my lunch break. The damned thing crawled at 4x speed on my 48x burner. I dressed fussily, yet time still remained. I packed my guitar, in case I needed it at the rehearsal. Time crawled, still.

Finally, the disc ejected. Into my bag it went, guitar over shoulder, mic stand wielded like a quarterstaff. The walk to the trolley wasn’t nearly as challenging as it had been on Thursday, but I was already considering the hike back to the house with all that gear plus my rehabbed bass.

Work was exhilarating, although I think those are the days my co-workers probably can’t stand me at all. The disc I burned turned out to be a CD-RW, explaining the sluggish speed. A co-worker working on the same freelance gig as I was rang me to talk about our assignment, and reminded me that the real deadline was Monday – three extra days to write!

At that point I was feeling pretty swell. Regardless, I was double and triple booked at every turn, but still managed to finish up every little thing I had meant to do, even if it meant pushing ten minutes past my Outlook appointment proclaiming, “If you don’t walk away right now you will miss the train and have no bass for rehearsal.”

What’s ten minutes, I thought? I just had to travel down 38 stories, walk three blocks, and buy a train ticket. I could work for ten minutes and still grab the bass. I’d be fine.

Well, it was a near thing, but I beat the train to the platform by an entire fifteen seconds. I’ve decided to chalk that one up to good project management rather than procrastination.

I ran into a new client on the train, chatted merrily, disembarked at the station, picked up my bass for twice the estimated cost, and trekked home carrying laptop satchel, acoustic guitar, and electric bass. It was a mile and a half, but it felt more than double that – surely as punishing as my old commute home when I’d jog it. I had to stop every half block to switch the bass to another hand.

Rehearsal was, in a word, unfortunate. The different action on my bass was tripping up my fingers and a week sans rehearsal meant I had forgotten my nifty new transitions.

Oh, and the earplugs. I had vowed to start wearing them sooner or later, and after our first song left my ears ringing I decided the time was upon me. I donned them and suddenly I was rehearsing underwater ballet, my notes lingering a hair behind the rest of the band.

After the first song in our second set I pulled them out to hear the room booming with my final strike of the E string. “Was my bass that loud for the whole song?” E just glared in return.

Things were not going well. I pressed the earplugs back and managed to get my bearings for our second set of songs, but it was still my weakest rehearsal since joining as the fill-in bassist almost two months prior.

At the end of rehearsal E declared that the three permanent band members had to discuss the bass situation and I was summarily dismissed from the room.

(It should be mentioned that E and I are not couple-y at all when we’re in any kind of performance situation together. We’re both a wholly separate brand of perfectionist, and in many instances those two brands might as well be oil and water. I think I’m typically more attuned to Filmstar’s drummer Zina than to E at rehearsals.)

The situation was pretty straightforward: my contract was up at the end of the month, the band had rehearsed twice with another bassist who sounded more than competent, and it was time to start booking fall gigs and recording a new EP.

I walked through the smoke-tinged halls of the studio and out into the cool air of the parking lot. Based on my lackluster showing at rehearsal, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be that solution.

I peered through the windows into the rooms in the front of the studio. No one was wearing earplugs. Who wears earplugs? Who wears earplugs for the first time when rehearsing on a bass with new action on the night their band is going to decide whether to keep them or not?

I hope you enjoyed your last rehearsal, I mused to myself. Of course it had to be this awful one before the band decided what to do and not my fantastic showing from the prior week.

Before I realized it I had paced three times around the row of parked cars. I forced myself to sit down on the bumper of our Matrix. I fussed with my phone, scrolling through Twitter without really reading the messages.

Oh well. Being in a rock band had been fun, but that’s my life.

I looked up to find E peering down at me. “I wondered where you got off to. Come on, we’re done.”

I followed E back through the labyrinthine halls of the rehearsal space, neither of us uttering a word. I supposed they wanted to let me down together, so it would be official – and maybe a little kinder than if E did it on her own.

Back in our rehearsal room Zina and guitarist/songwriter Glenn were making small talk while they packed up. A friend of Glenn’s had just texted him – could the band play a surprise gig the next night? It might be a good warm-up for recording to play some of the newer tunes in a bar with the new lineup.

E smiled. “Oh yeah, you’re still in the band. Do you want to go out for crab fries?”

I almost demurred, considering my freelance assignment, but then I remembered I had the entire weekend to knock out that final two thousand or so words. We adjourned to Chickie’s & Pete’s, each ordering a basket of crab fries, texting friends about our secret gig the next night, and talking about upcoming time in a recording studio.

That’s my life. I finished my freelance assignment with no issue many hours ahead of deadline, I made it to work on Monday at ten of seven to kick off our charity campaign, we had a rehearsal with Arcati Crisis + Zina on drums last night where we blasted through “Dumbest Thing I Could Do,” and tonight is the first night of rehearsal in my renewed run with Filmstar. I even found the time to mow the lawn.

Today I turned 29. I spent it at home from work, mostly napping. I would have rather had the sleep interspersed in the week of nights that proceeded today, but if that’s what it takes to be a successful professional in good shape with a happy marriage, an evening music career, a well-kept home, and writing gigs on the side then I’m game.

That’s my life.