poor me! waaah! waaaah! waaaah!

I can't help but notice the whining trend on social networks in the "status update" department.
No one cares about your tummy hurting or your headache, or the fact that you actually have to do homework *gasp!* for the educational institution you went into debt for bc you so desperately wanted to be a part of it!!!!!
shut. up.
I make no apologies for my bold statements. Perhaps I hold my head in shame a little bc I know that I have had my Emo moments too. But expressing emotion or a general outlook on life is completely different from updating the world on your everyday petty complaints. There are ppl not far from you who are being beaten, tormented, or even raped. Don't roll your eyes at me! Think about it.
I guarantee (if you live in a city) within 10 mins from you is a family learning one of their loved ones will have to die, or suffer through life with a debilitating disease. I'm thinking your headache will pass...
Maybe it's just me, but I find complaining absolutely repulsive, particularly when announced in an effort to squeeze out some sympathy.
Don't get me wrong, I am completely supportive of freedom of expression, just not complaining and whining.
I know, I know, we all have bad days. Trust me, this is all coming from someone who has a dark struggle with depression. Yup. I just said that. I've been known to sink into my situation and dwell on the negative and hopelessness of my life. (just a side note, as a christian, this behavior is even more ridiculous and totally unacceptable) Still, something I can relay from my experience is that no matter how hard you think your life is, there is always someone worse off. (Hello, how bout the current situation in Haiti!?!)
I do realize that you have to still exist in your own skin, and deal with whatever trials and hardships may come your way. Life goes on where you are, and in this media age of distraction and pleasure seeking, it can be difficult to come up for air.
At some point, you need to pull your rotted face away from the damn TV or gossip magazines, and take a good hard interest in something...someone other than yourself.
Do us all a favor, get your head out of your own ass and look around you. Get some perspective and take some action!!!! For example....

some perspective: http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2010/01/haiti_six_days_later.html
http://aplusk.posterous.com/latest-bullet-points-on-haiti

some action:www.conduitmission.org
www.hansandfeetproject.org
www.redcross.org


It's just that easy. No, you don't always have to pour money into a relief fund (although, if you could why wouldn't you???)
I am sure there are better ways to spend your time than telling facebook friends that your back hurts or whatever uncomfortable woe is currently oppressing you. Get over yourself, and get into life! Stop boring the rest of us with your constant nagging for attention. It only makes us think you're stupid. Anyone who says differently (awwww poor baby!!!) is a sucker and probably co-dependant anyway. Don't be a loser. Get off your "can't" and DO SOMETHING. Fight for something. Be passionate about anything! Just stop moaning and griping before I walk over there and shake you!

I'd Rather be Teed Off, than Teed On....

I never really understood the appeal of playing golf til today.
To be clear, you won't find me tearing up the green anytime soon. I always found it slightly ridiculous in concept- Let's see how far we can whack this tiny ball across a field of chemically enhanced grass and perfect our technique of aiming said ball towards a small hole. I suppose you could look at sports in general with the same train of thought...
Granted golf is generally associated with "Country Clubs" that shelter the appalling sort of people born into privilege and spoiled from it. However, I don't find any sport more infuriatingly pointless than "Curling". That maybe because I find no enjoyment in Bowling, and Curling is reminiscent of Bowling on ice...only, not. Whatever. Curling is stupid. the end.

Someone once very dear to me had a love for golf and even though I didn't understand it, I appreciated his spirited enthusiasm about it (of course, I'm a sucker for passionate people so there is no real surprise there). I even concluded there's something dignified about the history behind the game, something very gentleman-like. Still, if a brain can "roll its eyes" mine did a little.
Admittedly there is something artful in this sport's composure. Aside from the very aesthetic surroundings, the glint of silver in the sun, the "fresh air and exercise", you have this strive for perfection that I cannot help but admire.

What on earth has inspired this random mental venture into the world of Tiger Woods? Well, recently I have taken up racquetball with my roommate. (Bare with me, there is a method to my madness) We are strictly amateurs at this point, but it's fantastic exercise, and induces epic levels of hilarity! We have a friendly competition in volley, which may or may not include a rampant use of profanity and derogatory remarks. ;)
Both of us being artists/musicians, we are prone to finding deeper (or eccentric) enjoyment in activities like this. There's something so delicious in the sound of the swooshing racquet as it connects to the ball with a videogame-like resonance. Finding sweet release in the accomplishment of a goal with physical exertion has proven to be quite liberating! Perhaps it's a form of escapism, but it sure seems a lot healthier than watching a movie!
I realize there's something more oafish about lobbing a rubber ball at a wall, but it somehow connected with me that golf is as much of the same pleasure. The competition to perfect a swing, an angle, a form. The satisfaction that comes from actually striking the object you were intending to hit, sending it soaring thru the air on a beautifully executed ride to its intended destination. The endurance and diligence required in training are definitely beneficial to one's health and well-being.
I have to admit, I love the aggressive tendencies in sports that seem to be lacking in golf. I'm not as classy as I could be I guess. :) I initially became interested in watching football when the guy teaching me about it during a game on TV got all crazy and freakishly loud (mid-sentence) over a bad play. I fed off his passion and ferocity and felt a strange connection to him. Somehow it made me feel like less of a dweeb. All the rage and intensity I feel inside about music and art suddenly felt less insane!!! Someone was as crazy and loud about something that made them happy. I think I could like football :)
Anyway,back to the whole golf thing. I get it now. Even though I may never even play it, and it's technically nothing like racquetball (other than the use of a ball and a swinging motion). Over all, the comparison gave me clearer insight into the world of sports. I can take this new respect and apply it to pretty much any sport.
...Except Curling... that's still stupid.

Today I'm Not Ok.

My heart is heavy.

I would cry but I'm too angry. I would scream but I don't have the energy to get worked up.

I'm over it. But I'm not really over it.

I know that if I shake fists at the sky I remain a tantrum throwing child.

My nomadic heart wants to break free, find an escape, get the hell outta here. But I cant fight the pull in my heart to stay.

From the ashes...

I don't even know where to begin with the beginning.
I think my childhood is more complex and unusual than the rest of my life story. I will leave that assessment up to you should you decide to follow along this journey with me.


Let me introduce myself - My name is Jordan Phoenix McKinney. I was born in Tucson, AZ in 1984, at my Grandma Penny's house. My mother had a Midwife, and a "natural birth" . I lived the first few years of my life on Picture Rocks Rd. in an area that I can only remember as a desert. I found a horned beast of a lizard once outside by the clothesline and it shot blood in my face (I think that's a natural defense mechanism like when a frog pees in your hand).
I am the youngest of 5 siblings- Three older "half"brothers, and an older sister. Although growing up they made great effort to convince me I was adopted, I think they secretly loved me.

I was a little weirdo, that's for sure. My parents would buy me toys, but I was happy to make a nest in a cardboard box and clip wooden clothespins around the edges (perhaps for protection? your guess is as good as mine).
My childhood was filled with glorious things. My sister (2 & 1/2 yrs my elder) and I shared a room...ok that's not entirely glorious, but back then we didn't know that! We had various incredible stuffed animals, including Popples and Raggedy Ann. We were freaks for Lego's, Modeling Clay, and building castles (forts) out of plastic crates in our room.
We watched the Muppet Show religiously, and also Jem and the Holograms, old school Sesame Street,Zoobilee Zoo ,Fraggle Rock, and Eureka's Castle. There is never a time I can remember when The Labyrinth wasn't a part of my life.... I love that movie to this day.
Our favorite thing to do was make radio shows and musicals on our 80's style tape recorder, with the mic attachment. It has been said that we performed the most hilarious and child-genius-like talk show once, but when our Dad snuck in to retrieve it we had already dubbed over it with the more common child blathering. Rats.

Generally throughout my youth, I spent a lot of time "playing pretend". Everything from being spies and pirates, to fairies or dating Paul McCartney.
I often found myself daydreaming about my mother's made up bedtime stories. Oh man those were the best. There were flittering ladybug princesses, and sparkling fairies, and all kinds of magic and cute animals... but they were all in my head. I still escape there sometimes. My mother probably doesn't even know that I still wish I could be in those stories.
We had these really old books that smelled weird (but in a pleasant way) and had amazing poems and short nursery rhymes/stories, and I blame them that til this day when I get out of the shower and dry off all I can think of is: "If I were a dog I would shake, shake, shake!!!"

My personal nightly ritual was falling asleep with headphones on listening to "Sharon, Lois & Bram". I loved those headphones. I spent hours with those things cranked up. I would sing along to the Annie soundtrack and the many various mix tapes my parents would make for me, along with other kids music. Later on those headphones were a saving grace, but early in the game I had a deep appreciation for Vinyl! I can remember listening to Cranston Thorndike and being creeped out and hopeful at the same time - along with The Labyrinth, it kinda set the tone in my life. I had a cool Sesame Street record, but the best was my Mickey Mouse Club stuff. Oh you don't even know... Fankie and Annette... yes.

There were things that happened in Tucson that are in my mind so vividly, but don't make sense, or are out of nowhere. Here they are in no particular order, just within the time spent in Arizona :
I remember crawling around behind houses and dirty, dusty alleys on adventurous back ways to the neighbors house to pop giant bubble wrap in the garage.
I used to swing around a hot air balloon in my room with different toys in it.
Climbing up a tree at my sisters birthday and never wanting to come down, feeling so high and free, and sad about something,but not jealous. Not that time. I have no idea what was wrong and it bothers me still.
I remember getting in trouble for swimming in just my wonderwoman undies in the pool with the neighbor boys.
There was this guy who was friends with my parents that dropped off like a kazillion grocery bags full of candy from his work for some reason, and all I remember getting to eat were the damn JuJu Bees, that only hurt to chew but tasted too interesting to not consume.
The Culligan man (or Rainbow paint or water or something) stopped by after I had been playing with the makeup my Mom gave me. I thought I looked dazzling... he made fun of me and said it looked like someone had punched me. I am still offended Mr. wandering service-man, and I seek revenge!!! You are lucky your face is blurred out of my memory.
My sister was a Girl Scout, and one time I got to go along to a sleepover and somehow I was exposed to Nightmare on Elm Street and have been traumatized ever since. Look, I know it's so not Rock and Roll to hate horror movies, but I don't even care. They are yucky and vile.
On another Girlscout related outing, we (Mom, myself, and big sister Rachel) went somewhere we for some reason didn't or couldn't go in, but the outside had a giant, rectangular, above ground, concrete Coy pond, and it was so fascinating to me.
I was very young when I learned how to make grilled cheeses, cream of mushroom soup, and mayo on bread.
We went to SwapMeets (aka Flea Markets) all the time. My parents made and sold lollipops. I really miss those. They smelled so distinctly wonderful, and looked cool. I think they sold other stuff at that time, but the lollipops are what I remember. Now they just sell antiques.
Once my parents forgot me at a booth at the Flea Market, and found me in a crowd of hippies, watching a Tye-dye machine spin out designs.
Another great thing about Swap-meets in the Southwest... Mexican Candy and Tamales!!! Fresh, corn husk wrapped, spicy goodness tamales, carried in wooden boxes by beautiful older Hispanic women. Rows of lemon halves with a Saladido stuck in the middle and a dash of chili powder over the top... I'm salivating. My sister had a thing with Tamarind things, but I preferred the various peanut involving items- like peanut butter Masapan... mmm.
Obviously, I greatly enjoyed all the buying and selling adventures. Plus I always got free stuff, probably cuz I was a ragamuffin with big blue eyes and a "fuzzy blonde head" (words of my father)
We had chickens that I don't remember fondly. We also had the coolest cat that I would cuddle with on top of the fridge , or dress in drag. And I'm told many hours were spent playing in the sandbox, but I can tell you there was at some point a goal of mine and my sister to dig and escape to China... through our sandbox.... I told you I was a weirdo.

Our household was forever musical. Not just in the amount we listened to or saw performed live. There were many jam sessions I can remember at our house. My parents had fun, exciting, talented and eccentric friends.
At this point, my eldest brother Dylan and my Father had a folk music/comedy duo and sometimes included my Mom, and eventually involved my sister and I as well.
My parents were both employed at radio stations as DJs. They actually met that way, and my Dad proposed to my Mom thru a glass partition that separated their station booths.
At some point my Father became friends with folk singer Tommy Smothers (from the Smothers Brothers duo) and he offered him advice that was generally this: As a musician, career wise, you need to pick a coast, and travel up and down it booking shows and making a name for yourself.
I don't know when exactly I was informed that we were moving away, and I honestly couldn't at this point tell you why, but we were off like a flash it seemed. Somewhere around the time I was 5 or 6, we packed up the big brown/dark copper van, hitched up the camper trailer, and were singin songs to the next destination.
Next thing I know we are in Cali and Dad is angry. Words of wrath showered and splashed about the van about "a police state" and I knew there was no hope for life near Disneyland. Looked like the west coast was out... but we had a few stops to make along the way...