It's been a long time since my last post. So much has been going on in our house that it's been difficult to find the time and inspiration to sit down at my keyboard. That's the funny thing about writing, it does the soul good to release the demons haunting you by writing them on paper or in a blog, but when you're so emotionally drained that the thought of typing or writing anything personal sounds like torture, you just go to bed at the end of the day or watch another 15 minutes of the Today show before heading to work in the morning.
It's a vicious cycle. The less you write, the less you feel like a writer. And the less you feel like a writer the more you find ways to knock yourself down and pick apart your failures.
This weekend I cleaned the office in an attempt to create a work environment. I went through the four drawer file cabinet in the room and began throwing away old stories and random ideas I wrote down 5, 10, even 15 years ago. Where has all of the time gone? I looked at many of the slips of paper that had fully realized novels or movie plots on them and thought, "If I only had time."
Music has become a source of escape, once again, and I find myself thinking a lot of the 90s, particularly the years following our marriage and before the kids were born. When I was compiling and editing the Basement Songs book, I was alarmed that there was a gap in those seven years. Perhaps it's time to go back to that era and write about that time period.
After Basement Songs was completed, I thought that perhaps it would gain miraculous word of mouth and sell like hotcakes. Boy, was I delusional. The hard part of self-publishing is being a salesman. This is something I'm terrible at doing. For those of you who bought the book, and all of you who've supported me, I'll try to do better.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Saturday, August 17, 2013
The First Week of School
Wow, what a crazy week this has been. Jacob began 6th grade and Sophie entered high school. It's the end of elementary school for Jacob and the beginning of high school for Sophie and I'm not sure it could have been any more stressful.
As a parent, I worry to death that the two of them will have good teachers, that they'll do well in class, and that they'll avoid the pitfalls that befell me when I was their age.
I recall my last year of elementary school as a weird year in which hormones were raging through my body. I was bigger than most of the other kids, had hair growing in strange places, had experienced a voice change that took me from soprano in the school choir to bass, and felt like a complete nerd because of big hair, big glasses and a low self esteem. In other words, 6th grade kind of sucked. I was lucky to have my best friend, Matt, to hang around with, but I don't recall ever being 100% happy during that year. I'd talk back to my teacher, have outbursts in class (embarrassing to admit) and really wanted to be liked by the cool kids and the girls I pined for.
Still, 6th grade did find me writing my first short story (a mystery called "Midnight") and for some reason my parents allowed me to read mature literature such as Richard Hooker's MASH and Stephen King's 'Salem's Lot. I'm not sure I want my son reading about war, vampires and sex. I also excelled in football, using my size to an advantage. Finally, 6th grade found me really discovering rock music and learning to play the drums.
9th grade was another turning point in my life. I was faced with a choice of playing football or playing in the marching band. Although 9th graders didn't play on varsity, if I chose to play ball throughout high school I would have had to make that decision. It weighed heavy on me for the first month of school. I was leaning toward playing in the band. This was not because of my dad, the school band director. In fact, my parents told me that if I chose to keep playing football I would only have to be in winter band.
The truth was that all of my friends were in band. They had accepted me as Scott Malchus, and not the band director's kid or some punk freshman. I was just Scott and being embraced like this meant the world to me. Not that the football players gave me shit for being in the band. Sure, there were a couple knuckleheads that still adhered to the "jocks vs. band kids" mentality of the 70s (and still used the term "band fag"), but the decent guys I socialized with who were football players never said anything. Two major changes happened in 9th grade that cause me to lose whatever edge I had as a ballplayer.
1. I had stopped growing in 7th grade. Everyone I outsized in junior high caught up and towered over me. Since I'd never worked out in my life, I was a pencil thin, medium sized kid who was easily tossed aside by some monster sized guys.
2. Girls. I went on my first date in 9th grade. Had my first real kiss in 9th grade. I won't go into any further details about 9th grade because Sophie might read this, but let's just say that having girls pay attention to you can sap whatever rage that is brewing inside right out of the body. You know that scene in Raging Bull, the one where DeNiro's Jake LaMotta won't have sex with his wife right before a fight? Yeah, sexual frustration can make a normally meek guy an aggressive football player. Trust me.
Thus, my desire to hit people was waning when I entered high school. Yet, I didn't want to just quit. I still had a competitive side to me that wanted to be an athlete.
The decision was made for me during the first freshman football game. Somehow I wound up one of the starting defensive ends. On one of the last plays of the first half of the first game, I shredded my ACL and ended my football career.
9th grade wound up sucking for a different reason. I had friends and had a blast, socially, but I spent most of the year on crutches and struggled to get my mobility back in my knee. It was a painful, frustrating time. Oh, and I got my heart broken for the first time. But that's another story.
I'm so excited for Sophie. I think she's going to have a great year. She has great friends and I'm impressed with how much she's pushing herself to get ready for swim team tryouts. I just hope she doesn't get her heart broken. Alas, I can't prevent that.
There are other things going on in our household, things I may discuss at a future time. For now, I'll leave you with these two songs. One a favorite from August 1981, when I entered 6th, and the other from August 1984, when I entered 9th.
Aloha
As a parent, I worry to death that the two of them will have good teachers, that they'll do well in class, and that they'll avoid the pitfalls that befell me when I was their age.
I recall my last year of elementary school as a weird year in which hormones were raging through my body. I was bigger than most of the other kids, had hair growing in strange places, had experienced a voice change that took me from soprano in the school choir to bass, and felt like a complete nerd because of big hair, big glasses and a low self esteem. In other words, 6th grade kind of sucked. I was lucky to have my best friend, Matt, to hang around with, but I don't recall ever being 100% happy during that year. I'd talk back to my teacher, have outbursts in class (embarrassing to admit) and really wanted to be liked by the cool kids and the girls I pined for.
Still, 6th grade did find me writing my first short story (a mystery called "Midnight") and for some reason my parents allowed me to read mature literature such as Richard Hooker's MASH and Stephen King's 'Salem's Lot. I'm not sure I want my son reading about war, vampires and sex. I also excelled in football, using my size to an advantage. Finally, 6th grade found me really discovering rock music and learning to play the drums.
9th grade was another turning point in my life. I was faced with a choice of playing football or playing in the marching band. Although 9th graders didn't play on varsity, if I chose to play ball throughout high school I would have had to make that decision. It weighed heavy on me for the first month of school. I was leaning toward playing in the band. This was not because of my dad, the school band director. In fact, my parents told me that if I chose to keep playing football I would only have to be in winter band.
The truth was that all of my friends were in band. They had accepted me as Scott Malchus, and not the band director's kid or some punk freshman. I was just Scott and being embraced like this meant the world to me. Not that the football players gave me shit for being in the band. Sure, there were a couple knuckleheads that still adhered to the "jocks vs. band kids" mentality of the 70s (and still used the term "band fag"), but the decent guys I socialized with who were football players never said anything. Two major changes happened in 9th grade that cause me to lose whatever edge I had as a ballplayer.
1. I had stopped growing in 7th grade. Everyone I outsized in junior high caught up and towered over me. Since I'd never worked out in my life, I was a pencil thin, medium sized kid who was easily tossed aside by some monster sized guys.
2. Girls. I went on my first date in 9th grade. Had my first real kiss in 9th grade. I won't go into any further details about 9th grade because Sophie might read this, but let's just say that having girls pay attention to you can sap whatever rage that is brewing inside right out of the body. You know that scene in Raging Bull, the one where DeNiro's Jake LaMotta won't have sex with his wife right before a fight? Yeah, sexual frustration can make a normally meek guy an aggressive football player. Trust me.
Thus, my desire to hit people was waning when I entered high school. Yet, I didn't want to just quit. I still had a competitive side to me that wanted to be an athlete.
The decision was made for me during the first freshman football game. Somehow I wound up one of the starting defensive ends. On one of the last plays of the first half of the first game, I shredded my ACL and ended my football career.
9th grade wound up sucking for a different reason. I had friends and had a blast, socially, but I spent most of the year on crutches and struggled to get my mobility back in my knee. It was a painful, frustrating time. Oh, and I got my heart broken for the first time. But that's another story.
I'm so excited for Sophie. I think she's going to have a great year. She has great friends and I'm impressed with how much she's pushing herself to get ready for swim team tryouts. I just hope she doesn't get her heart broken. Alas, I can't prevent that.
There are other things going on in our household, things I may discuss at a future time. For now, I'll leave you with these two songs. One a favorite from August 1981, when I entered 6th, and the other from August 1984, when I entered 9th.
Aloha
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
The Braces Kid
Jacob got braces last week and we thought the next year was going to be traumatic for all of us. The first night, I've never heard him cry in pain so hard and for so long. There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening.
The next day, his mouth was still sore and he was irritable because he couldn't eat any of his favorite foods... which are basically the ONLY foods he eats. Besides milkshakes and glasses of whole milk there was nothing he could eat.
The third day, however, things began to take a turn for the better and he's been improving ever since. Tomorrow will be a full week and Jacob's been a real champ. The kid seems to be taking the new addition to his mouth in stride and he's back to being his wise cracking self.
I know, kids get braces all the time, but Jake endures so much in his daily life that this seemed like too much. I'm really proud of how he's doing. He's really maturing.
Speaking of maturing, Sophie has high school orientation tomorrow. WTF?! I'm sitting here listening to INXS, a band whose music I played when I was in high school... when I was HER AGE! Is INXS classic rock? Am I old?
Damn.
Friday, August 2, 2013
New "Goin' Country" column at Popdose
Not sure why I haven't been putting up notices that new columns are appearing on Popdose. Seems like as soon as I finish something my mind is already on to the next thing I want to write. Anyway, today I have a new Goin' Country column up at Popdose. Please check it out!
http://popdose.com/goin-country-the-hot-country-songs-for-the-week-ending-81013/
http://popdose.com/goin-country-the-hot-country-songs-for-the-week-ending-81013/
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Easing back into it...
It's a strange thing when your family goes out of town. For about a day or two, there is a sense of independence, the kind like you had that first week away from your parents' house. But then, as the weeks linger, that feeling of "freedom" becomes oppressive and the walls start closing in. While Julie and the kids were out of town in Ohio, I feel like I slowly lost a part of myself.
Three weeks is too long to be away from your family, especially with a holiday thrown in the middle. Not only did I lose my will to write, I lost all sense of routine and felt like I might lose it. This all culminated in bit of an alcohol induced meltdown the Friday before they came home.
This is one of the reasons I haven't applied myself to this blog in the past month. I've been trying to regain my sense of being a writer. It's slowly coming back to me.
I'm working on some scripts, trying to keep the new country music column up and running over at Popdose, and I've decided to revive my old TV column, "The Three Strike Rule." Most important, I'm ready to tackle the screenplay for a story that's been brewing inside of me for years.
I wish I could sell more copies of the book. If I had the money I'd hire a publicist to market it for me. Alas, this responsibility is on my shoulders and I NEED to get better at it.
Anyway, I'm back to tend to things here at the BASEMENT SONGS blog. I hope you'll stick around.
Aloha
Three weeks is too long to be away from your family, especially with a holiday thrown in the middle. Not only did I lose my will to write, I lost all sense of routine and felt like I might lose it. This all culminated in bit of an alcohol induced meltdown the Friday before they came home.
This is one of the reasons I haven't applied myself to this blog in the past month. I've been trying to regain my sense of being a writer. It's slowly coming back to me.
I'm working on some scripts, trying to keep the new country music column up and running over at Popdose, and I've decided to revive my old TV column, "The Three Strike Rule." Most important, I'm ready to tackle the screenplay for a story that's been brewing inside of me for years.
I wish I could sell more copies of the book. If I had the money I'd hire a publicist to market it for me. Alas, this responsibility is on my shoulders and I NEED to get better at it.
Anyway, I'm back to tend to things here at the BASEMENT SONGS blog. I hope you'll stick around.
Aloha
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Popdose Rewind: Patty Griffin, "Be Careful"
On Tuesday night I attended the Patty Griffin concert at the Wiltern Theater. One of the songs she performed that night was "Be Careful," a song that I featured in the Basement Songs column back in 2009. I love this song and it always reminds me of Sophie.
When I wrote this piece Sophie was still a little girl. Now she's entering high school and I couldn't be prouder. It's a bittersweet feeling, though. She's growing up, and soon, oh so very soon, she won't need her dad any more.
-->
Since the day we moved into our house, I have regularly snuggled my daughter Sophie for about 10
minutes before she goes to sleep at night. When she was
younger, it was to help ease her fears over the creaks and rattles of her room
when the lights were off. As she got older, this routine turned into an
opportunity for the two of us to catch up on our days. I found out about how
school was for her, and Sophie asked me questions about my job. For the
past year I have tried to end this nightly routine. Whenever I expressed
this to Julie, my great wife admonished me by saying, "There's going to
come a time when she wants nothing to do with you. Enjoy this while you can. Generally I pooh pooh this comment; I can't
imagine my daughter not wanting her dad around.
I vividly recall dropping her off for the first time at daycare when she was just two months old. It happened to coincide with my first day at a new job, so I was already a bundle of raw nerves. Letting her go and placing her into the care of people I barely knew was one of the worst things I ever had to do, and after I left the daycare, I had a meltdown in my car before finding the strength to start the car. I felt like she was already moving on.
In 2002, my son Jacob was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. While Julie stayed with him down at Children’s Hospital in Los Angeles, I took Sophie to preschool and went to work, then would pick up Sophie from preschool and we would drive all the way into the city to see them. It was a long, stressful week and I leaned on Sophie's tiny shoulders (she was three at the time) to support me. She cried, missing her mommy, while I tried to put on a brave face so as to not scare her. I'm ashamed to admit that I lost my cool with my three-year-old. Amazingly, when I would hug her, apologizing for raising my voice, Sophie would pat my back and say, "It's okay, Daddy."
We got through that time together, though I was lucky to have the music of Badly Drawn Boy's About a Boy and Patty Griffin's 1,000 Kisses to free my mind from dwelling on things. If there is a moment when I felt like I made a unique connection with my daughter, it was during that time.
The end of the baseball season is my favorite time of the year. Sophie and I huddle on the couch to watch our favorite teams battle for a spot in the World Series. As I pace the room, anxiously waiting the result of every pitch, she'll ask a hundred questions about the rules of the game, the players, the players' numbers, the lingo, what an umpire does, strategies and the team colors. When I throw my arms up in frustration from her bombardment of inquiries, I quickly apologize and she responds, "It's okay, Daddy."
Last week, most of her classmates went on a weeklong camping trip, and Sophie didn't want to go. She's always had trouble sleeping over at friends' houses, so a week in a strange cabin was too much for her. Still, she felt left out, and decided that come next year, she wanted to go on the school trip. Julie felt that in order for her to do this, she first had to conquer her fears of having a sleepover with one of her friends. What this means is getting accustomed to going to sleep alone and putting an end to our nightly snuggles.
I didn't expect the pangs of sadness that filled me when she told me her plan. I thought I'd be happy that I didn't have to help her settle and that we could have a normal conversation each night while sitting on the couch rather than lying in her bed. This was my first dose of separation anxiety: My little girl is starting to grow up.
Puberty looms on the horizon. I'll be honest; I'm scared to death about the changes she's going to go through as she grows into a teenager. It may be a couple of years away, but soon she's going to start liking boys, and they'll pass her notes and maybe (gasp) she'll hold hands. I don't even want to talk about what comes after that. I know how guys can be; I'm one of them. I broke hearts, and made rude comments, and wasn't always the nicest guy. I wish I could protect her from all the bad things, but the best I can do is tell her I love her, comfort her in her low times, raise her up during her triumphs and always -- always -- tell her how much I love her. And maybe I'll continue slipping songs onto her iPod when she isn't looking, like this gem from 1,000 Kisses. Sophie may never realize that I think of her when I hear this song, but that's fine.
Will we maintain the bond we've had since the day she came home from the hospital? Will she still want to hang out and watch baseball? Will I someday get to take her to a Springsteen show so she can finally scream out "Big Man" during "Dancing in the Dark?" Will she still draw me wonderful pictures that I can hang above my desk at work? Will she still ask me to snuggle her on occasion when the creaks and rattles of the house have stirred up some old fears?
I can only hope.
When I wrote this piece Sophie was still a little girl. Now she's entering high school and I couldn't be prouder. It's a bittersweet feeling, though. She's growing up, and soon, oh so very soon, she won't need her dad any more.
-->
Since the day we moved into our house, I have regularly snuggled my daughter Sophie for about 10
minutes before she goes to sleep at night. When she was
younger, it was to help ease her fears over the creaks and rattles of her room
when the lights were off. As she got older, this routine turned into an
opportunity for the two of us to catch up on our days. I found out about how
school was for her, and Sophie asked me questions about my job. For the
past year I have tried to end this nightly routine. Whenever I expressed
this to Julie, my great wife admonished me by saying, "There's going to
come a time when she wants nothing to do with you. Enjoy this while you can. Generally I pooh pooh this comment; I can't
imagine my daughter not wanting her dad around.I vividly recall dropping her off for the first time at daycare when she was just two months old. It happened to coincide with my first day at a new job, so I was already a bundle of raw nerves. Letting her go and placing her into the care of people I barely knew was one of the worst things I ever had to do, and after I left the daycare, I had a meltdown in my car before finding the strength to start the car. I felt like she was already moving on.
In 2002, my son Jacob was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. While Julie stayed with him down at Children’s Hospital in Los Angeles, I took Sophie to preschool and went to work, then would pick up Sophie from preschool and we would drive all the way into the city to see them. It was a long, stressful week and I leaned on Sophie's tiny shoulders (she was three at the time) to support me. She cried, missing her mommy, while I tried to put on a brave face so as to not scare her. I'm ashamed to admit that I lost my cool with my three-year-old. Amazingly, when I would hug her, apologizing for raising my voice, Sophie would pat my back and say, "It's okay, Daddy."
We got through that time together, though I was lucky to have the music of Badly Drawn Boy's About a Boy and Patty Griffin's 1,000 Kisses to free my mind from dwelling on things. If there is a moment when I felt like I made a unique connection with my daughter, it was during that time.
The end of the baseball season is my favorite time of the year. Sophie and I huddle on the couch to watch our favorite teams battle for a spot in the World Series. As I pace the room, anxiously waiting the result of every pitch, she'll ask a hundred questions about the rules of the game, the players, the players' numbers, the lingo, what an umpire does, strategies and the team colors. When I throw my arms up in frustration from her bombardment of inquiries, I quickly apologize and she responds, "It's okay, Daddy."
Last week, most of her classmates went on a weeklong camping trip, and Sophie didn't want to go. She's always had trouble sleeping over at friends' houses, so a week in a strange cabin was too much for her. Still, she felt left out, and decided that come next year, she wanted to go on the school trip. Julie felt that in order for her to do this, she first had to conquer her fears of having a sleepover with one of her friends. What this means is getting accustomed to going to sleep alone and putting an end to our nightly snuggles.
I didn't expect the pangs of sadness that filled me when she told me her plan. I thought I'd be happy that I didn't have to help her settle and that we could have a normal conversation each night while sitting on the couch rather than lying in her bed. This was my first dose of separation anxiety: My little girl is starting to grow up.
Puberty looms on the horizon. I'll be honest; I'm scared to death about the changes she's going to go through as she grows into a teenager. It may be a couple of years away, but soon she's going to start liking boys, and they'll pass her notes and maybe (gasp) she'll hold hands. I don't even want to talk about what comes after that. I know how guys can be; I'm one of them. I broke hearts, and made rude comments, and wasn't always the nicest guy. I wish I could protect her from all the bad things, but the best I can do is tell her I love her, comfort her in her low times, raise her up during her triumphs and always -- always -- tell her how much I love her. And maybe I'll continue slipping songs onto her iPod when she isn't looking, like this gem from 1,000 Kisses. Sophie may never realize that I think of her when I hear this song, but that's fine.
Will we maintain the bond we've had since the day she came home from the hospital? Will she still want to hang out and watch baseball? Will I someday get to take her to a Springsteen show so she can finally scream out "Big Man" during "Dancing in the Dark?" Will she still draw me wonderful pictures that I can hang above my desk at work? Will she still ask me to snuggle her on occasion when the creaks and rattles of the house have stirred up some old fears?
I can only hope.
Originally published October 22, 2009 on POPDOSE
Sunday, June 23, 2013
A new column at Popdose...
As I continue trying to sell copies of Basement Songs (have you bought your copy, yet), I've begun a new column over at Popdose. It's called "Goin' Country," which, as you may surmise, is about country music.
I've written off country music a majority of my life, even though many of the artists I like record music that would fit into some form of the genre. Country may be the one music, besides opera, that I've never given much consideration to. I've spent the past couple of months immersing myself in country and some of the culture and now I'm ready to share my journey with anyone who wants to read.
I've always loved history and this venture is giving me a chance to dig a little deeper into American culture and the music that has been a part of our country from its very beginning.
Interested? Here's a link to check out the first column.
http://popdose.com/popdose-presents-goin-country
I've written off country music a majority of my life, even though many of the artists I like record music that would fit into some form of the genre. Country may be the one music, besides opera, that I've never given much consideration to. I've spent the past couple of months immersing myself in country and some of the culture and now I'm ready to share my journey with anyone who wants to read.
I've always loved history and this venture is giving me a chance to dig a little deeper into American culture and the music that has been a part of our country from its very beginning.
Interested? Here's a link to check out the first column.
http://popdose.com/popdose-presents-goin-country
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
I love it, but I do mind that they're gone!
This morning at 4:20 AM, I dropped off Julie and the kids at LAX. They flew back to Cleveland to visit Julie's family for three weeks. I've been awake since 3:10 and I feel pretty good. I'm still waiting for the wall to hit me.
THREE WEEKS!
It gets harder and harder to say goodbye to the family when hey go on trips like this one. For this vacation we'll be apart longer than ever before. I wonder if their leaving added to the emotions I felt when Jake and I went to see Man of Steel over the weekend? Could be.
This time around I have some projects to do in the house, little tasks to keep my mind occupied and fill in the void left in the house when they aren't around. I can't talk about them on the Internet because Julie reads this blog.
I plan on writing, too. I need to dive back in and get the pen back on the page. I'm not talking about writing reveiws, either. I want to start another book and I have a new column for Popdose that I hope to begin publishing this week. These three weeks alone would seem ike the ideal time to really dig in and get some work done.
At this very moment I don't feel as if anything I'm writing is making a lick of sense. I suppose that wall has hit me. Or perhaps I've been away from you too long.
Maybe a little of both.
Well, here's song for you, my favorite pop summer song of '13, so far. Reminds me of riding in the car with the family.
Aloha
THREE WEEKS!
It gets harder and harder to say goodbye to the family when hey go on trips like this one. For this vacation we'll be apart longer than ever before. I wonder if their leaving added to the emotions I felt when Jake and I went to see Man of Steel over the weekend? Could be.
This time around I have some projects to do in the house, little tasks to keep my mind occupied and fill in the void left in the house when they aren't around. I can't talk about them on the Internet because Julie reads this blog.
I plan on writing, too. I need to dive back in and get the pen back on the page. I'm not talking about writing reveiws, either. I want to start another book and I have a new column for Popdose that I hope to begin publishing this week. These three weeks alone would seem ike the ideal time to really dig in and get some work done.
At this very moment I don't feel as if anything I'm writing is making a lick of sense. I suppose that wall has hit me. Or perhaps I've been away from you too long.
Maybe a little of both.
Well, here's song for you, my favorite pop summer song of '13, so far. Reminds me of riding in the car with the family.
Aloha
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