Marching. On.

Hi there.

FAWM/RPM wrap-up: Counting the two co-writes and one remake, I am turning in 13 songs (FAWM's goal is 14). I could have mailed off an "album" for RPM (only 10 songs), but it would have just been a bunch of incongruous material thrown on a CD; I couldn't genuinely call it an album. So I didn't complete RPM.

In the last few days of FAWM, my mind started to rebel against songwriting. I wasn't feeling inspired, at all. I think the week in Canada absorbed much of my creative energy, and my body just resisted writing crap to make a deadline (not that some of the songs I did post weren't crap). Add to that the fact that there are some talented MoFos on that board. Not just songwriters, but players and arrangers as well. Which made me less willing to turn in something that isn't my best work.

But it's a fun, wild, inspired community of people. I am glad to have taken part, and I will again. My goal for next year will be to turn something thoughtful and coherent, keeping February free enough to turn out something special.

There are still three demos left to do (I posted placeholder lyric pages), and I plan to get through them all today.

My computer (complete with Cubase and interface) is arriving today!

My sister is safely installed in Korea. She's got her own room and bathroom, which is just about all a person needs, I think.

Recipe #1: Yesterday I had a craving for dip. I even dreamed about having dip (with crackers, in the kitchen of a 19th century castle, with my younger brother and sister - go figure!). So, I bought the ingredients and made dip for the first time. Nothing fancy, just a spinach dip thrown together with Lipton soup mix, sour cream, mayo and spinach. Mmmmm. Immensely satisfying.

I also got a new fridge. When I came back from Canada, the cooling mechanism on my fridge had busted, and everything inside (not much, to be honest) was nasty and warm. The super brought over a new fridge yesterday. The 45 minutes it took to get all the magnetic poetry off the front door were simultaneously cathartic and sad, as all my poetry from the last couple of years fell away.

The words now wait in a bowl, to be thrown up again in some other order.

Certainly a metaphor for...something.

In nine days I meet again with my producers to chart out the instrumentation and schedule to complete my album.

March, I've decided, is "get my ass to the gym" month.

jules