Hey all -- sorry the blog in here is dead! The action is on my MySpace blog!
The truth is, as I've been on the road this past year, and last year, this blogging tool attached to my website isn't very user friendly, so I can't keep up with all of you from the road via my Blackberry — but I can on MySpace, so I have been blogging actively on MySpace, and you can find my latest happenings here:
http://blog.myspace.com/danielle_egnew
Sorry for the inconvenience, you guys! I will eventually get this blog switched over to something a little more user friendly, so you don't have to click twice to get information, but until then, click the link above, and you can check up on what I'm up to! You don't have to be a signed-up user of MySpace to read the blogs, only to comment
— so stay in touch, and I will get on this blog issue as soon as I can !Hugs xoxo
Danielle
My Top Five Ways To Screen Out A Wacko
Okay, so living in Los Angeles, though regrettable due to border-to-border traffic, too many people, and humid 105 degree days, does has some fascinating perks, most of which have a great deal to do with observing the Human Zoo.
Seeing as that I work in entertainment, I work in the part of the Human Zoo that has all the rare, nocturnal, and poisonous creatures.
As such, I have devised my Top Five Ways To Screen Out A Wacko – or in laymen's terms, how to know, in one simple five minute conversation, that someone is a complete ass-raving wacko who is not worth any more of your time, by simply identifying a few key words or catch phrases, so you can run, run, run, not walk, to the nearest exit. I would like to share these with you, because they may come in handy, and save you a bite on the hand from a poisonous wacko, in the dark.
1) "I have to watch out for my Enemies!" – If you ever hear someone going on and on about all of the "enemies" – then they are a bona fide wacko. This self-obsessed weirdo knows they piss people off worse than a hornet in a baby changing station, because people have told them about it their whole life, and they relish the limited amount of temporary power they think that it gives to them. Since they have no life, they try and keep the fire burning with the "enemy" conspiracy. They have eyes in the back of their head because they are SURE someone is always trying to kill them. They believe that they are truly so important that people actually keep a tally book with their name in it, keeping score starting with inane crap that happened back in junior high. Regrettably, the Enemy Wacko is unaware that 99% of the people they have pissed off in life have completely dismissed them as a wacko and moved on, and do not give them the energy to warrant them "being an enemy". Behavior: This type of wacko usually has really paranoid behavior such a s whispering compulsively due to either elaborated mental illness, severe alcohol intake, meth or cocaine use, and has big, wide eyes that look back and forth pendulously, like those ticking Felix The Cat clocks that hung in diners in the 50's. Markings: They often sweat a lot, and get a shiny face. Territory: Bars, Cattle-Call Audition Lines, Power-Up Mixers, studio executive offices. Range: Walking distance from their house due to too many DUI's.
2) "I can't __________, my Stalker might be there." – First of all, people who really DO have stalkers don't talk about them, because having a stalker is a traumatic experience, not something to brag about, as it's an enormous invasion of privacy. Wacko Wanna-be's who *wish* they were somebody will talk about having "Stalkers", because they think it makes them sound important, desired, famous, or as if their curb value is higher than it actually is. The wacko who goes on and on about having a stalker is most likely attempting to make sure they are not invisible to those around them, and are referencing an episode of Dynasty in 1982 where Krystal Carrington had a stalker, because Krystal was popular, darn it! Cut off a conversation with this one as soon as possible, because the Stalker wacko, if indulged, will begin adding more and more stalkers to the story, as long as you keep listening, and pretty soon – you'll end up as a name on the list, the next time the story is told to someone else. So run, don't walk, away from this one! Behavior: This type of wacko usually has really erratic behavior due to either elaborated mental illness, severe alcohol intake, meth or cocaine use, and wears big sunglasses and caps pulled down to their navel . Markings: A jeweled turban and a martini. Territory: Bars, Gay Pride Events, Power-Up Mixers, Pilates Class. Range: Internet Message Boards.
3) "No matter where I go, Everyone always screws me over!"– Everyone? Everywhere? This entitled wacko believes that miraculously, everywhere they go, hoards of bitter manipulators are just waiting, dormant, until they walk in to the room, activating a rare and unfortunate pheromone that commands them to come out of the woodwork for the sole purpose – of "screwing them over". Because, after all, they are THAT important. This wacko is unable to identify the fact that the only common denominator between different places, and different people, and different scenarios – is THEM. The plain fact that THEY are the single thing that is causing the problem, from place to place, from friend group to friend group, from job to job, eludes them entirely, because they are a wacko, and believe everything is everyone else's fault. No amount of attempting to rationalize with the wacko will lesson this opinion, so you're best to just pick up your drink and go find someone else to talk to before you can't get rid of the wacko, once they think they have your ear. Behavior: This type of wacko usually has really paranoid behavior due to either elaborated mental illness, severe alcohol intake, meth or cocaine use, and clenches their jaw when they speak, spitting through closed teeth. Markings: Deep forehead wrinkles, frown lines, and bags under the eyes from sleepless nights. Territory: Bars, Music Message Boards, Music Clubs, The Sunset Strip, Cattle-Call Audition Lines. Range: Across the USA, looking for the one place where everyone will worship them.
4) "I was a Child _______ Prodigy!" – This wacko loves to announce to all within listening distance that they are the most gifted person in the room. In the building. In the state, the country, the continent, the planet – THE UNIVERSE! The problem is, people who truly were child prodigies generally have a significant amount of emotional scarring and emotional duress associated with the stresses put on them at an early age, and do not speak of their prodigy-ness as adults – in fact, many end up broke and / or homeless. Once you give the Prodigy Wacko any semblance of attention, you will note that they keep adding to the list gifts and talents for which they were prodigies, until my goodness, there is NOTHING that this wunderkind can't do! If you keep the conversation up long enough, this wacko eventually turns into the "I Built The Pyramids" wacko. Behavior: This type of wacko usually has Fozzie the Bear behavior due to either elaborated mental illness, severe alcohol intake, meth or cocaine use, and has big Jazz Hands. Markings: Designer T shirts and botox tracks. Territory: Bars, Music Message Boards, The Sunset Strip, Cattle-Call Audition Lines, Power-Up Mixers, Gay Clubs, Unemployment Lines. Range: Anywhere within 50 feet of a soundstage, music stage, or
5) "You know, my IQ is _________". – The IQ wacko is the hardest to identify, and the least threatening, but irritating all the same, and will eventually be incredibly painful, much like the Chinese Water Torture. The IQ wacko may also be mistaken for Trekkies, MENSA Applicants, seven year olds, and 50 year olds who still live with their mother. As such, the IQ wacko demands further scrutiny before the wacko genus can be readily identified. The IQ wacko will start the conversation with their IQ, ask you your IQ, then go on and on about everyone else's IQ that you may both know. This IQ wacko is obsessed with the fact that they aren't quite as bright as some of their other friends, but they attempt to mask this boldly present insecurity by talking faster, or gesturing in your face with a beer bottle when they speak. The IQ wacko will drive you nuts trying to one-up you on facts, figures, literary quotes, and general trivia. Mostly, they are a huge pain in the Know-It-All ass, and should have been hugged more by their parents. Behavior: This type of wacko usually has Ted Baxter behavior due to either elaborated mental illness, severe alcohol intake, meth or cocaine use, and compulsively squints in an attempt to appear more astute. Markings: Anything Black. Territory: Bars, Clubs, Gay Pride Events, Women's
I don't know how I feel about "Diary Blogging"
I am told that this is the new form of intimacy in our virtual culture, this is how we "get real" with one another these days, although I find the very nature of that statement, a virtual memoir to many gracious, reading strangers, not to be very "real". In fact, I find a blog to be ridiculously antithetical to "real" — the whole process of getting to know one another through the written word, in spurts and digital imprints, none of which have a voice, or a pulse, or even — an opinion, outside of what we create the written page to say.
I thought I would be a better blogger, because I have a lot to say about a lot of topics, but in fact, I'm lousy at it. I'm lousy at deciding that anything I would have to say, on a personal level, would be of any interest to anyone in particular, moreso than what THEY would have to say, on any given subject. In short, I'm just not convinced my opinion is that interesting, to be captured indefinitely, or until the server crashes, on the blogasphere.
Perhaps so much of my life is spent "in public", that my emotional opinions enjoy their privacy?
Or perhaps I just like to keep my emotional cards a little closer to my chest than I thought I did.
I really like to read other people's emotional blogs. I really like to see what makes people soar, and what makes them happy or sad, and I sincerely enjoy reading about other people's opinions. I find that I am slow to offer my own, unless I am REALLY passionate about something. I think this "slow on the draw" opinion casting comes from years and years of balancing the strange, sick and wrong plate-spinning dance of the politics in entertainment. You say one thing to one person, and the next thing you know, you're hearing a completely different version of the same thing you said coming from another person.
You learn to chose your words carefully. It's not that you are disingenuous in your opinion, only that you rarely offer an opinion, because God only knows what version of that opinion is going to circulate through the ranks, and come back to kick you in the hind-end later on.
I have a blog on MySpace, and I tend to throw online some crazy thoughts and experiences there, whereas that environment, to me, more supports a little goofing around. But there's something about this blog that's different to me, and I can't pin it down. This seems more serious in here, or maybe that it's so singular, with only my opinion, not simply a sea of opinions in many other seas of opinions, all there for a casual glance, like MySpace?
I do encourage everybody to take a gander at my blog on Myspace, because it does tend to be a lot of fun — www.myspace.com/danielle_egnew
I'll work on sharing my thoughts and ideas, but for today, the only thought I have is that if you're reading this, I am really grateful you'd take the time to do so. And if you're reading this, know that this isn't me attempting to "get real" with you, because not only do I find that saying to be juvinile and insulting on a number of levels, so I would never direct it at another person in seriousness — I find that it's an impossibility to do, as virtual and hyper-constructed as is the nature of this medium.
But, know that this is just me, giving you a shout out. And in effect, musing publicly, which seems to be such a strange practice to me, though I love reading it when other people do it.
I don't know that I'll ever be the big emotional online-diary-keeper. At the end of the day, I've discovered that I'm a little too private for that.
If you want to read my emotional diary — check out my song lyrics. Now THAT'S a medium where I just puke my emotional guts up, for everyone to see, all jagged, and ugly sometimes, and stinging sometimes, and eye-watering sometimes, or cutting sometimes, or just plain ragged. I noticed that a lot in my lyrics on my album Red Lodge.
Here's to everyone out there who is comfortable with laying their heart on their sleeve, in print, for all to see. For me — I'll keep my heart in my song lyrics, and keep my sense of humor online!
Has anyone else had this “dark purple apocalyptic sky” dream?
I've had two dreams with this weird, sort of dark-purple with a reddish glow sky. Have you? I Googled it, to find an alarming number of people have dreamed about this same disturbing sky, and always around post-apocalyptic issues.
I was watching Population Zero: Life After People, and I am reminded of one of these "purple sky" dreams — a really disturbing reoccurring one I had when I was two or three.
Yes, two or three.
I remember this dream because it was so vivid and so creepy. And I know I was two or three because I was having it when my family lived in Chicago, and that's the age when I was there. It was so ridiculously detailed that I remember it like it was yesterday. It went like this:
In my dream, I was my current age at the time – two or three. I was walking through what appeared to be a huge junkyard, with mountainous piles of refuse on either side of me. The thing is, the sky – the sky was this deep purple color, with a slight reddish hue to it. It seemed almost illuminated, but from what, I don't know, because it was such a dark purple. It wasn't "nighttime" – the sky was just purple, and very dark. You couldn't see the stars – like, whatever was making it purple was a thick purple cloud-cover, or something of the like.
I was the only person alive in this junkyard. I was a little scared because I knew I was alone, but not terrified, as I walked through these towering mountains of grey garbage piles. Looking back on it as an adult, it looked more like rubble, but at the time, I saw it as a child as being a junk yard. Pages of exploded books blew by me collecting at the base of these rubble / junk heaps, and I recall there were papers blowing everywhere, and there was a feeling that this refuse had been there awhile.
There was a warm wind blowing, and everything smelled like burned garbage.
Off in the distance, I saw a tan short-haired dog running around, looking for something to eat. It was my height, and stocky and strongly built, and looked like it was a tough junk yard dog, what I can identify now as maybe a bull mastiff, or some pit bull mix. Its collar was really faded, and ratty, and the dog had the feeling of having been on his own awhile. The dog was creepy, and I let it pass, because I thought it would eat me if it was hungry.
In the middle of the junk yard was what looked like a wooden observation tower, built on stilt and elevated about three stories up, overlooking the whole yard. It was plain, ragged out looking wood, and the wood looked like it had been weather worn, the being the grey color that weather worn plywood gets. The front of it was open, where it looked like a long 15 foot window would have been, and it had a flat roof that was pitched slightly up in the front, with a small lip overhanging the open "window" area. Sort of like what a short baseball dug-out would look like if it had a window space up front and was put up on stilts.
In my dream, I thought that if I could climb the stairs wooden stairs to this tower, I might be able to see out over the junk yard, and find my parents.
I walked up to the wooden stairs, and I was so little in my dream, I had to climb the stairs using my hands, too, like little kids have to, because my legs were too short to just step up the stairs.
I get to the top of the stairs and stand on the top platform, and I look out, and all I see are mountainous piles of grey rubble, for as far as the eye can see. I remember thinking that this was the biggest junkyard I had ever thought could even be in existence. It was endless. And off in the distance, fires dotted the junk rubble piles. Thinking back on this now, as an adult, that's what was causing the sort of "reddish" hue to the sky, and illuminating it.
Once I got up to the tower, I looked inside, and I was disappointed by what I saw — it was a disaster of a room about maybe ten feet wide and maybe 12 to 15 feet long. Inside on the floor, there was glass all and tons more of these book pages that had been torn out collected in the corners that had been blown through the enormous opening where the window once was. The room was also coated with this silty, grey dust everywhere.
Around the room, it looked as though there was all sorts of electronic equipment that was destroyed, splayed about. I mean, completely destroyed, all the metal casings just twisted open, and on the far wall was something that looked like it might have been some sort of sit-down control panel. But it was all bashed up and torn to pieces, with wired hanging down below the panel.
Around the rooms, there were twisted, coated wires everywhere, and big metal casings torn open that some sort of instruments were once held in, like something you would find military equipment in. The metal casings were grey.
In the middle of the room was this long rectangular table that was really beat up looking. I was too short, too small in my dream to see what was on the table, so I pulled an old ratty wooden chair over so I could climb up and see what was on the table.
On top of the table was a telephone that was destroyed. It was an old rotary phone, again, smashed, with its circuit boards and wires and actual bells smeared across the table like someone literally took the phone apart piece by piece and left it gutted on the table. The handset was one of those old rotary handsets, and it had both it's ends unscrewed, and it's wires hanging out of the handset.
There was nothing up there expect ruin. There was nothing outside for as far as the eyes could see except ruin and fires.
And then the ripped-up phone on the table started to ring.
This dismantled, pieced-out, unplugged phone stared to ring this sickening, haunted, awful, loud, disturbing ring. All it's parts were jiggling on the dusty table as this thing would ring, and ring, and ring, that loud, disturbing actual "bell ring" ring phones used to have, only this ring sounded sickly, and half choked out as the wires lay across the exposed, dust-coated ringer bells.
As a two or three year old kid, I found this part of the dream terrifying, as there was NO way this phone could have worked. I even knew that as a child.
The ring was so loud, and I watched the bells get struck, and the longer it rang, the louder and more ragged sounding it got, and the more freaked out I got because I realized that I was completely alone in this "junk yard" – with this demanding, dismantled, ringing phone. It would get louder and louder until I woke up.
Now, I had this reoccurring dream so many times, over and over and over again, that it was really a nightmare. It would run through the exact sequence, me walking into this junk yard, looking up to the weird purple sky, feeling the warm wind, smelling that sweet burned garbage smell, passing the mountainous piles of rubble, looking at the book pages blowing, me seeing the dog, me coming onto the tower and climbing the stairs and surveying the endless burning junk yard, going inside, climbing the chair to see the top of the table, only to have the phone ring and ring.
The last time I had the dream, the very last time, I can remember, I finally got past my fear of this nasty haunted broken phone, and picked the handset up though it was trailing all it's pieces, even though it didn't even have an earpiece that was attached, and I went through the motions and said, "Hello?"
And then I woke up.
I never had the dream after that, but I can't even count how many times I had it before that. And every time I would start climbing the stairs, I was sick to my stomach, because I knew I was going to run into that smashed, dismantled, screaming, demanding dusty phone on the table.
I hated that creepy thing.
The other time I dreamed about a purplish sky, just like that, as a dream I had when I was 17, that as time wore on I realized was about the war in Iraq, clear down to appearances of a "business man in a red tie" chasing a "Latin Man with a Black Moustache and white button up shirt" though pumping oil wells in a desert, but the oil wells looked like the bobbing well pumps in Texas, not the big oil towers of the middle east – but the sky was that dark purple, and as time wore on, I was later able to identify the "business man" as George W. Bush and the "Latin Man" was actually Sadam Hussein. But seeing as that I was in
But my question is – who out there has had a dream about dark purple skies? I Googled it, and found countless people recanting dreams of an apocalyptic nature, so I am wondering if we are all picking up on the same transmission coming form somewhere?
It's not as if, as a two year old, I would have seen this "junk yard image" on TV, or in the media anywhere. That was 37 years ago, and there wouldn't have been any CG abilities to create what I saw.
You'll know exactly what I am talking about if you have seen this sky in your dreams. You can't miss it. And you never forget it.
Let me know – this dream has been popping into my head a lot lately, so I'd be interested to hear if anyone else has seen this sky in their dreams.
The NAMM show 2008 de-brief
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Well, I'm back from the NAMM show in Anaheim, and it was a blast! For those of you who have never attended a NAMM show, it's INSANE. The doors open at 10:00am and close at 6:00pm, and there are three floors in the Anaheim Convention Center that are covered in the latest music gear, software, services, equipment — you name it. It's an invitation-only trade show, and it's CRAZINESS, and I was guest of the guitar company that endorses me, Minarik Guitars, so I was really enthusiastic to attend. I'm a gear-head anyway ! I knocked myself out looking at everything, trying out new gear, talking to all sorts of creative new vendors, and making new friends. I'm very proud to say that after the weekend, I have a couple of new endorsement deals in the works, and I'll announce them when all the details are finalized. Some NAMM highlights included: - Playing with Sheena Metal's Beer Bong at a Minarik Guitar sponsored show at Fender's, a club that's named after — yup, you guessed it — the guitar, whose maker is from the Fullerton/ Anaheim area. I play th character of "Ivana Rock" in that band, which is a satirical 80's theatrical rock project, and I play keyboards. It's a HOOT!! THANKS to Minarik Guitars — Marc, Nicole, and Bill — for attending and having us at the showcase! - At Fender's, I met up with my talented buddy Raymond Hayden, who is also a fellow artist on Maurice The Fish Records, and it was terrific to see him, as he lives up in the Seattle area. So THAT was cool! I had a ton of runny |
he probably didn't care too much. I also hung out with my pal Amy and her (and now my) buddy Dan, which was nice,
as Amy lives in Arizona but was in own for work — she's a professional sound person. I drank a LOT of Guiness, which
is HELL on the waistline but a lot of fun in the moment, and Fender's was a great time all around.
- I was asked to play and sing at the DeMars Guitars booth, and that was a treat! Dan DeMars makes some GREAT
hand-crafted guitars that sound like a MILLION bucks, and all the guys at the booth were so much fun, especially Dan
and Gino, a fellow Italiano who reminded me a TON of a much younger version of my grandpa Louie, rest his soul. Dan
and Gino us out to dinner two nights, and we had great fun at Buca Di Beppo and a place called Azteca, which is the
ONLY Elvis-themed mexican restaurant in Cali. Their food was outstanding, by the way, and the collection of Elvis
memorabilia was out of control.
- Our hotel was just outside of Disneyland, and every night at 9:25, the Disney fireworks show would blast off. We
were directly under the fireworks, as it turned out, so we were treated to 20 minutes of GORGEOUS fireworks every
night. For those who have never been to Disneyland, they shoot off fireworks nightly, as part of their parade and exit
show.
...that's mostly the highlights. Like I said, I'll let you guys know when the endorsements are finalized, as they are
TREMENDOUS pieces of equipment that I really believe in. I don't believe in taking on an endorsement deal unless I
actually USE the gear I'm endorsing
. That's all the news that's fit to print for now — now I have to go answer some e-mail. So I'll talk to you guys later
!