Roman Edirisinghe

Minutes after I wrote my last post, I grew tired of the computer and got my bike. I had left it chained to a post during winter, so it had collected rust on the handlebars and chain. It did, however, ride like a champ as I sped out of Riverwest, heading south on Humboldt towards the lake. The air was crisp, and I felt my fingers stiffen from the cold wind as I picked up momentum. I felt blood coursing through my brain for the first time all winter! My destination was the lakefront bike trail, which happened to have slushy ice on it, so I bypassed it and rode along Lincoln Memorial drive. As I approached the road, someone drove past me, waved and honked. An attractive woman I didn’t recognize. “Turn around and come back,” I thought to myself as I waved back and continued crossing the street. Seconds later, my cell phone rang. It was my old friend Laura who had passed me and waved. We exchanged pleasantries and committed to calling each other later, as she was getting on the freeway. (NOTE: conscientious drivers realize driving under the influence of the cell phone is equivalent to driving drunk). Trudging on, I noticed my left inner ear starting to get extremely cold, to the point where the pain was nearly excruciating. Concerned that it would affect my balance, I slowly made my way home, making sure I was sufficiently muddy trekking up a hill. I got home, cleaned the mud off, stripped and crawled in bed. I suddenly felt totally depressed. Picking up my laptop, I started writing, hoping that blogging would help me process my feelings.
I used to write a LOT in the mid-90’s. However, life circumstances changed. I got busy, took on more and more responsibilities, and found myself with very little personal time. When I did find the time, picking up a pen and paper became difficult. Somehow, it was easier to get lost in a computer for hours, working on audio or playing a mindless RPG or checking out porn. Enter the blog. I suddenly feel like writing again, and candidly exposing my inner workings to those who care to observe. Odd, isn’t it? I value privacy, but I’m at least somewhat willing to disclose my world to people I don’t even know.

Odd, isn’t it? I spend the whole winter complaining about the bloody weather, and now that it’s nice out, I’m still inside pecking away at this bloody computer. When will this madness cease?

I am so sick of spam, especially from friends of well-meaning friends who send me emails about cancer-stricken babies, free money from AOL & Microsoft, online petitions, etc. The list goes on. Do people think I have nothing better to do than delete hundreds of emails from people I don’t even know?
Check out this netiquette primer

C’mon people. If the guy wants to wear a dress to display his fashion designs, let him wear the damned dress. Are we forgetting that men wear kilts and sarongs? Or are we simply so insecure with our masculinity that we have to impose our narrow-minded, petty views on the enlightened? And for the religious right: are we forgetting that Yeshua (Jesus) and his homies wore what you would consider dresses?
via TheMilwaukeeChannel.com

“We spend a lifetime thinking in boxes, rectangles and squares, eventually finding organic thought impossible.” – Roman Edirisinghe

I visited my folks tonight and they shared the cutest story about days gone by:

They would buy cigarettes (Benson & Hedges 500’s) and carry them around, and not smoke them. If they were at a party, they would take them out & put them on the table, and sort of smoke a cigarette. But not really, because they didn’t inhale. It was more like they were waving their cigarettes around for effect. Which cracked me up. My mom was giggling by this point, hugging my dad, and I had this vision of my parents making a show of holding cigarettes to look cool. The things we do to fit in…

I love you mom & dad.

My new pet peev: people not returning my phone calls.

Excerpt from a recent conversation with my dear friend Corina:

Corina: “Why don’t you call me sometime when you’re not busy?”
Roman: “(LOL)”

I was laughing because Corina rarely calls me. To my 10 phone calls, she might call me once. Maybe. This is no fault of hers – she works practically all the time, even on weekends, and barely even has time for herself.

[My roomate Kristin is blasting Rastafarian Nyabinghi music & I am drifting into a type of hypnotic daze]

Corina isn’t the only one who hasn’t been returning my calls. It’s been common for people to never call me. I admit it’s been hard not to take it personally, and consequently I’ve developed some resentments toward people I desire conversations with. Maybe I have too much time on my hands. Not really. It’s not that I sit around and wait for these people to call. I have plenty of things to do with my time. However, I want to spend time with some of these people, and it’s frustrating me to the point where I am going to stop calling them.

As my gears spun pondering this dilemma, I realized that I’ve been very GUILTY of not returning people’s calls. I’ve got karma built up, and it’s coming around to me. Several people had called me, with no response. Immediately, I set the wheels in motion to turn this around. I made a few calls. Left some messages. Talked to two people. Felt better.

Nyataimori/nyotaimori is the much fabled “naked sushi” of Japanese origin. The rough translation of the word nyataimori/nyotaimori is “adorned body of a woman.”

Check it out at the Yak’s Lair

Check out a gallery of nyataimori pix

Tonight I went to Suze & Jer’s to eat some great Jamaican food, vegan style. Entrees included jerk seitan, cornbread, cabbage, rice & beans, fried plantains, and spicy condiments. Rasta, dem cook well.

My attitude today was excellent, considering I slept terribly last night (I was up until 5 am tweaking this blog). Went to Narwhal and soaked for a bit, got downright meditative. Feeling optimistic is a welcome change from the painful cloud of negativity I was walking in.

Life really does remind me of those “Choose Your Own Adventure” books from the 1980’s. We make our own choices about how we live, act and react to the stimuli around us.

Rather, I told the band that I didn’t want anything to do with inner band workings, and that I wanted my role to be that of an independent contractor. In effect, I’ve given myself the freedom to say yes or no to One Drum shows, depending whether or not they want to invite me to shows.

It was a really difficult decision to make, but it’s one that I had on my mind for about two years. My involvement in the band was extensive to the point where I burned myself out. I lost patience. Additionally, I became fatigued by conflicts that are typical to all bands. Eventually, I had to cut myself free. True, it’s not a completely clean break, but since I told the band about my decision, the past two months have been very slow as far as gigs.

I haven’t really been playing that much music. A little acoustic guitar around the house, when I feel like it. I am not quitting music. On the contrary, music feeds my soul. I am simply making changes & gravitating towards avenues that will allow me to grow. I’ve been recording a little – mostly older songs that haven’t gotten the attention they deserve from me.

Yesterday, David Stocker asked me if I would join a One Drum quartet or quintet on a trip to the Pacific Northwest in April. I’m actually considering it. I’ve cleared it with work. It may be fun, especially since I’ve never been to that part of the country.