A foot in each world

And days seem like weeks

2006-05-23T17:30:00.000-07:00

We, the congregation, were sharing the peace before partaking in the Eucharist. I approached her silently, partly of my own volition, partly from the urging of another who kindly meddles in the affairs of others. And she just grabbed me, wrapping her arms around my back and I enfolded mine about her shoulders.

As we stood there embracing I tried to recall her last name, I’d never learned it. I didn’t know her age, where she was from, how many siblings she had or what her future aspirations were. She was the girl I met a church and occasionally ran into in Clark Park, she always greeted me with a smile and a completely unnecessary, but welcoming scream—she greeted everyone in this way, even strangers.

But here she was dampening the shoulder of my shirt with her tears. I didn’t know why she cried at the time. Later I found out her partner of two years had left her, and speaking of that moment at church she said, I just felt like I wasn’t enough, I’m still not, I suppose.

*

The choir director was crying when I walked into my first choir practice. Members of the choir had been hassling me for at least a month to come to practice, despite my insisting that I didn’t have that kind of voice, if I had a voice at all. But here I was, my shirt still a bit damp from earlier and another person was crying.

Sorry, she said wiping her cheeks, it’s just something I can’t but cry about. For much of the practice she smiled at us, animatedly telling us how we should hold ourselves, how we should shape our mouths to produce the best sound. Okay now let’s just hear the tenors, she would say, okay now altos and sopranos together, good, very good, it sounds so beautiful in my ears. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

But in the moments when she flipped the page or rummaged for a new sheet of music her face contorted to this grimace, not ugly just sad. Her eyes would glisten with waiting tears and all of us watched her fight her sorrow and lose in those brief moments of monotonous movement.

*

I wonder if they’re an old couple that’s still in love or if this is one of their first dates, I mused aloud to my fellow server, watching as the man leaned over to kiss his date between bites of his meal.

Them, the polish server asked, No they not on first date, they cheat on their spouses with each other, What, They come in here all the time and always ask to sit at that table because you can’t see it from the door, always the same table.

I think some look of horror must have crossed my face, or that my silence hung with questions. They are bastards, no, she said, I always wonder how they go home and be with people that they no longer love, I mean they loved their spouses at one time, why else get married, why do they not just tell them.

I don’t know how they can be with themselves at times, I said, something like that, adultery, must come back on them when they’re folding clothes or doing the dishes or something like that, Yeah, I call that a moral hangover, later that man is going to wince, she said, when he remembers kissing that lady with Tilapia in his teeth.

*

I hesitated in sending it to you, the thing I wrote for you; in my message I told you as much. I sat there countless moments remembering the recent sleepless nights, the empty stomachs, the tired eyes. I studied what I had written, what I had promised to send to you even though the circumstances had now changed. I knew that the story before me was a part of me, I’d made the page tepid with my figurative blood, sown pieces of a nonexistent soul into these sentences with words, but I wondered whether it mattered. I wondered what was unique about the sorrow that found form in this syntax.

Everyone hurts and feels pain, sorrow, affliction, but we all want our own to be greater, more acute, or at the very least different. We want others to misunderstand our particular plight. We desire some level of loneliness in our trials because then it means something, then it matters. When we think of how many have suffered this same exact thing, wept for the same reasons, our burden become lighter, shared as it is with so many others. And we miss the burden because we’re not working as hard, and if we aren’t working hard we don’t earn it, we don’t deserve to feel this way, and this feeling doesn’t matter.

My vanity wants this to be such a unique, piercing blow but the weapons of memory have grown dull because it almost seems like the events of the past no longer exist…

I read through everything twice, thrice. I try to see it through your eyes and predict what sections those eyes will linger on, what grammatical structures will cause them to fill with questions, what words will keep you awake and make you feel like the walls of your room are collapsing inwards.

I press send because in this moment, this instant, it all matters to me. I send hoping that with the message gone this particular moment will pass.

In your response you say, what a fantastic story.

Indeed, it is a story.

Oh well...

2006-04-25T07:45:00.000-07:00

Here's what the 666 sign is actually about. Maybe if I had and subsequently watched tv I might known earlier but alas. It was a fun exercise anyways....

Things I struggle with

2006-04-22T15:59:00.000-07:00

A large, black billboard stands blank except for plain white writing spread across in the center.

6 + 6 + 06
The Signs Are All Around You

Sharing the sky-space with this announcement is a Claritin Clear advertisement: “There’s clear and then there’s Claritin Clear.”

_______________________________

Turning right from 43rd street on to Market, I meet this sign during my morning run. I stop and study it, looking for a small note in the corner to indicate who paid for this apocalyptic, self-referential message. But the sign bears no signature of authorship; just the message exists at the northwest cusp of University City. Of course it arose from somewhere, someone wrote, designed and published this billboard, and being only a half-mile into my run I had plenty of time to imagine its creation.

A whitewashed basement with dark, wooden support beams running down the center. A group of four people gather in one corner, the only sounds are the gentle hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the quiet whir of two ceiling fans. For a few moments the assembly sits in silent, disturbed contemplation—coming to grips with the importance of their small gathering. Perhaps they ponder the impetuous of their thoughts.

Eventually a man in a faded white shirt and tie, an insurance salesman who works in center city, clears his throat and speaks, it’s necessary, it’s something we have to do. People need to know.

A younger gentleman in a yellow t-shirt with red writing that says “There’s hope in Jesus” echoes this sentiment, leaning forward in his chair placing both sandaled feet on the floor, it’s inevitable but people don’t realize it. It’s our duty to tell people what’s going to happen, it’s what HE commissioned at the end of Mark, go and tell the world, we sin when we withhold knowledge from the world.

He flips through his weathered, leather-bound Bible and reads from Revelation, ‘If anyone has insight, let him calculate the number of the beast, for it is man’s number. His Number is 666.’

A frail, old woman dressed in various shades of purple with her head properly covered by a floral cap cries silently through her thick glasses, it’s so sad, so sad.

We must embrace it, it’s the Lord’s bidding, we’ve only to deal with our responsibility to spread the news, the insurance salesman says, rebuking her sorrow, let us rejoice in the glory of the Lord.

Amen

I’ve bought the space for the sign and formatted our message, they’ll put it up in two weeks, chimes in the final member of the group, the organizer, the humble leader, a teacher of math at northeast school. The others nod, reveling this good soul’s good work.

Come, says the salesman, let us get to the purpose of this meeting. Let us pray that our work will not be in vain, let us ask the Lord to bless our venture and to keep our place among the chorus of angels.

And so they convene with the Almighty. Two weeks later, two city workers in grey jumpsuits plaster the message on the billboard in the middle of the night. Completing their task they pause for just a moment before climbing down. They ponder this message in the vibrant lights of the city, confused and unaware of their integral role in the God’s glorious scheme. Do they know, each in the group of four wonders in quiet the moments before sleep, how greatly they’ll be repaid in the coming afterlife?

I purposely ran by the sign again the next day, once again stopping and studying it’s anonymous presence. Realizing as a stood there sweating before Mark’s deli that sells fortys of malt liquor and hoagies, that I was fulfilling the group’s goal. I was thinking about it, and now I am writing about it.

Later that day a non-descript white van with two loud speakers mounted on it’s top drove past my window as I translated The Iliad. As it passed the van had a number of questions for me.

Do you know Jesus? Do you know whether or not you are saved? Do you know you’re personal savior, the one that one will redeem you in the approaching end times? Do you know Jesus?

I am a self-professed Christian, but I don’t really know Jesus. I don’t understand God, and struggle constantly to rationalize my irrational belief and affiliation with an entity through which man, with fumbling worship, has caused such grievances through time. I certainly cannot foresee what God will do on June 6, 2006. If the world does end in some quick, burning burst of white light I’ve no idea what I’ll do. If I have time, I’ll probably simply smile.

Until then I'll study for finals, write about CRM and try to not feel like I'm a character in Don DeLillo's novel White Noise. Only occasionally contemplating the complications when I see his face in the morning in the window.

A Random and Vague Connection

2006-04-12T12:52:00.000-07:00

My Job

The company I work for provides technology consulting for any company that desires our services. Therefore we can help Company A better manage their supply chain, establishing better procurement guidelines to realize savings through direct spending. Through these added savings and the more efficient use of time that our services create Company A can obtain a competitive advantage over Company B. Enthralling stuff, I know.

However, we can, and often do, the exact same thing for Company B, without batting an eye. Through what I write I relate how Company A can defeat Company B in the new, ever-developing global market with our software solutions, and vice versa.

Also, we use different software solutions from different, competing software solution companies to solve the same problems for either company. I've on one occasion explained in writing how Software Company A can better solve a problem in Customer Relationship Management. On another occasion I've drafted a fact sheet that states that Software Company B's solution better tackles the issue of Customer Relationship Management than Software Company A, who just a week ago I said had the market leading solution.

It's not really a question of who my company is loyal to, were obviously not loyal to anyone. But should the concept of loyalty even exist in the global world of technology consulting?

Homer

In Book IX of the Iliad the Trojan woman, in mass, beseech the "dreaded goddess Athena," begging her protection for their brave husbands waging war against the terrible Acheans.

In Book XXII, Achilles, an Achaean Greek, and Hector, a Trojan finally face off. Achilles, determined to kill Hector because he slew the dear Patrocalus, is aided by the Athena. She decieves Hector by keeping his spear-aid within the walls--meaning that when Hector casts his spear against Achilles he's left only with his sword, a serious disadvantage since Achilles is still well with spear.

Realizing he is decieved Hector laments "Of late is has been more dear to Zeus and Apollo that I die, those gods who used to protect me."

Though Hector charges mightily with brandished sword, Achilles runs him through the throat with a bronze-clad spear of ash.

As he dies Hector prophecies: "My death will give birth to Divine wrath against you, Achilles, whenever Paris and Phoebus Apollo cut you down before the Scaean gates."

So again, the question doesn't seem to be to which side, say Apollo, is loyal, but should he even be concerned with loyalty.

Note: Yes, random, maybe a bit unconnected thoughts. And for those of you that can read Greek, I realize my above translations are a bit "loose."

Late Night Chinatown

2006-03-12T17:26:00.000-08:00

After a suprisingly good Metric show the group of us found ourselves at "The Tai Lake" in the middle of Philadelphia's Chinatown at 1:15 a.m. There was a large family next to us, young children and all, celebrating the grandfather's birthday. They talked boisterously switching back and forth between Chinese and English.

We ordered a variety of things , all of which were delicious and having had a few drinks in us we we're quite vocal about out approval of the food. Or waiter, though the restaurant was busy, mainly stood next to our table and at one point I looked up and smiled at him and he smiled back and proceeded to say: "You not from here, right? You not locals."

For the most part he was right. Veronica was from Texas, Dan from Louisiana, Cherry from Georgie, myself from Texas, and only Tom was a born and raised Philadelphian. But before we could relay this laundry list of old homes our waiter added another element.

"You not from America, right?"

We were taken aback. I don't think any of us had ever thought we didn't look American, but I guess when you think about it what does an American look like? Of course at one a.m. we weren't going to get into such a conversation, and instead we asked our waiter to tell us what country he thought we were from.

The answers were quite interesting.

Veronica, who was born in El Salvadore, and has beautiful brown, deep brown eyes and nice olive skin apparently looked like she was from Russia.

Cherry, a born and raised southern girl, is tall with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes and very fair skin: she was also from Russia.

Dan, who has dark hair and darker skin looks like he might be of Greek descent, or Spanish as in from Spain descent. He apparently looked like he was nowhere...maybe Turkey our waiter said.

Tom, the born and raised Philadelphian, is from a strong Italian background. He's about my height, but much whiter skin and much more built. He definitely looked the most "blanco" right after Cherry in our group, but apparently he was from Pakistan.

And me? Originally from Texas, a mexican-american father, an irish-descent mother, darker hair and skin with bluish eyes, and short. "Oh you American, they all visiting you, no?"

The Repayment

2006-03-06T11:58:00.000-08:00

Because of my proximity with the "Triple Deli III," which is more of a 40 oz. store, I often get asked for money. It's subsided lately because I've gotten pretty good at saying no to the regular alcoholics. However, if he asks, I do give money to Alfonso.

Alfonso, is usually in Chester's, the corner store, and always shakes my hand and asks me how my running is going. I can't determine whether he is homeless, but he's unemployed and wears basically the same clothes everyday. He's told me he's a mechanic still looking for work, which I choose to believe because I like him and want to think that he is actually looking for work.

I still give him money because of our first encounter.

"My running friend, let me ask you a question."

"Sure."

"I need fifty cents for the trolley."

He sort of caught me at a week moment and I had exactly two quarters in my pocket so I forked him over and watched as he ran to catch the trolley that had just stopped at the corner.

I've never seen him with the tell-tale black plastic bag in his hand and he always asks every politely and not every time. Most of the time he'll just walk and talk with me for a block or so while I go to school. One time he asked for forty cents and I gave him fifty.

"I pay you back my friend."

"Okay."

"I pay you back next week."

I didn't really believe him, and it didn't really matter. I didn't need that fifty cents. Sure enough a week rolled by and then two weeks and he didn't pay me back. I wasn't disappointed, which I couldn't figure out whether that was insulting to Alfonso or not. I mean are low expectations insulting? I still saw Alfonso most every day and we exchanged the usually "hello, how are you?" And he never mentioned his repayment and I eventually forgot about it.

Until last Monday. Midterm week was just beginning, I'd foolishly gone to Boston the weekend before and had gotten up quite early that morning to start studying. When the Greek began to run together on the page I decided it was time for a run. Coming back from the run I realized I'd gone too fast for too long and now all I wanted to do was go back to sleep, which was definitely not an option at this point. I'd already wasted too much time and knew I was in now way prepared for my two exams that afternoon.

I was turning the corner to my house and there was Alfonso.

"Hello my running friend."

"Good morning."

"Hey how much do I owe you, fifty cents right?"

"Umm...yeah."

He proceeded to reach into his pocket and dump a load of change into my surprised palm. He then took coins back until I had fifty cents in nickels and dimes in my hand.

"There, I pay you back."

"Thanks."

I wanted to give it right back. I didn't need fifty cents, but I knew that trying to give it back would have been insulting. Alfonso continued on his way, patting me on the shoulder while my fist closed around the assorted change.

I battled with a range of emotions as I mounted the stairs to my apartment. I felt bad because I had automatically, and completely assumed that Alfonso was not going to pay me back--an assumption based on his outward appearance. I wondered if there was something about me demeanor, the way I came off, that makes people think I expect to be paid back in those situations.

At the same time I felt a complete elation with humanity--someone who was under no contract and who doesn't really know me (nor I him) paid me back. And it wasn't about money, it seemed to be about some sense of honor and respect for another human. He told me he'd pay me back, and he did, despite the fact that I didn't believe him.

In the end the elation won out.

btw -- the exams went fine.

conference call

2006-02-23T20:07:00.000-08:00

Every Thursday the North American marketing team has its weekly conference call at 4 p.m. This semester I have class from 2-4 on Thursdays, so I've been having to take these calls on my cell phone instead of the usual pay phone because I can't get to one inside quick enough to make the call.

It's not really a big deal, I get to expense my minutes for these calls and it makes the walk back to my apartment from class seem quicker. Usually I don't have to say anthing, it's the one hour I can put down on my time sheet where I'm not actually doing anything but listening. Working from home is great, cuts out travel time and never anything to complain about really, except I feel bad logging hours where I didn't actually produce something. It's not like other jobs I've had where I got paid for just being a body in the room at times, I can only log hours when I am actually physically and mentally doing something--except for the conference calls. I just have to dial in and sit back and listen to people talk in Acronymns--until today:

"Austin could you do me a favor? Could you take notes from this call and send them out to the rest of us later?"

"Sure."

Suddenly my free hour turned into work, relatively hard work because it's not like these people talk slow and it's not like I have any idea what they are talking about half the time. Plus I was outside walking home, and had no idea where to go to take notes. So I dash into Williams hall, the languages and humanities building, and desperately look for a place that is quiet and secluded. I find I small table on the second floor and plop down. Quickly pulling out my pen and notebook I begin to try and catch up on what has already been discussed during the call.

So please picture this for a moment. Here I am sitting in my brown hoodie (an all to prevalent fashion trend) pressing my cell phone against my ear with my left hand and frantically writing with my right, not saying anything. I'm sitting there silently writing.

At the another table a girl in a purple turtleneck sweater studies statistics with her white ipod earphones snug in there place. At the third table a couple (probably freshmen) are preteding to study but mostly cuddling. And there's me.

"We've really got to encourage the BU's to follow up on these stage 3 leads once we convert them from stage 2. It doesn't make any sense for us to put in all the effort when they're not following through."

My eyes drift to the girl's statistics book and my chest seizes up slightly as I remember taking that midterm in undergrad and getting to a problem I had no idea how to solve. I knew there was a formula for the problem but hell if I remembered what it was.

"I think we should allocate funds to advertise in specific airports. R., you'll probably want to focus on JFK right? Oh and maybe we can do something on NPR?"

"What's NPR?"

"It's a radio station. I've never listened to it, but it came up on another call I was on."

The couple is obviously in the throes of early love. He keeps brushing her hair behind her ears, and she dips her chin down and smiles, looking at him through the tops of her eyes. They hold hands coyly underneath the table.

"Oh C., tell them about the event we're going to have for Sapphire!'

"Oh this is going to be so cool. So we're going to take all the CIO and drive them to a show, and then afterwards we're going to serve them dinner and drinks!"

"That will be a superb networking opportunity. I think we will really be able to generate demand for our solutions."

I begin to think back to all the opporunities I've passed on to be able to sit like this couple. The opportunity to find myself so enamoured with a person that I don't care if some creep in a brown hoodie is watching me. I've passed on such aon opportunity so many times, both in the distant past and relatively recently. What's wrong with me? I'm sitting here being jealous of this couple's affection, but I never let myself have such open affection. I avoid it like the plague, I don't call the girl back, I think of one girl when kissing another.

"...that will be a really important event in April. Austin did you get that?"

"Of course."

I'm on the call long after the girl in the purple turtleneck and the cuddling couple have left. For a good twenty minutes I'm alone, silently listening to my cell phone, taking down acroymns such as MDM, ERP, IPO BCI, WBR.

The call ends. I close my notebook and pack it up in my bag.

And just sit of a few minutes. Just sit. Something I haven't done if a long time.

Conversations

2006-02-19T15:20:00.000-08:00

Finally the February chill has swept into the Northeast, though my weather widget predicts the numbing cold will dissapate soon.

I haven't posted in awhile, being entrenched in dead languages and trying to finish Jose Saramago's "Baltasar and Blimunda" (which by the way is very good and I would recommend to anyone). But to keep Blake from commenting again here are some snippets of conversation over the past week or so.

She: I'm a firm believer in the more intelligent you are the less happy you are. You can't really be happy if your really intelligent.
Me (in an immediate reaction, not thinking and slightly drunk): You're just saying that because your life sucks and you've convinced yourself that your only saving grace is depression and obscurity because those two things mean intelligence in your mind.

[the conversation ended]

She (in a statement of selflessness): Last night was nice
Me (lying and being selfish): yeah I had a nice time last night too.

-----

Me: They think someone purposely introduced the Avian flu in India
He: Dude you're going to lose your mind. Every day you update me on the bird flu: Swans in Italy, the fact that were doomed because it's in Nigeria.
Me: Hey I don't have a tv so all I can do to procrastinate is read goole news! It's the top health story everyday, what do you want me to do not read it?
He: Yeah, that's the idea.
-----

Me: You know you kept me busy most of the weekend with homework and paper and such.
My Teacher: Well you know I need to keep you out of trouble
Me: Yeah you know me
Teacher: Well from what I hear...
Me: haha...wait...hear what?
Teacher: I don't reveal my sources.

-----

She: So yeah I'm going to the vagina monologues tonight
Me: I've never seen them
She: I wouldn't tell most guys to go, but I think you might enjoy them
Me: I'll take that as a compliment I guess
She: Yeah, totally

-----

She (a different one): Yeah so I'm not going to the vagina monologues tonight
Me: Why?
She: I'd rather bond with alcohol than girls

----

She: So all these people asked me today if you and I were dating
me: and?
She: of course I denied it, but they didn't believe me
Me: Why did you deny it? It would have been fun, if only for the sake of gossip
She: haha, yeah true. But apparently I should be dating you because you're really vulberable right now and you need someone.
Me: They said this?
She: Yeah, and then I laughed out loud
Me: You laugh at my pain?
She: Whatever! you know you totally play that angle.
Me: maybe I'm really hurting!
She: Shut up!
Me: okay but you can't tell many people that

----

She: I think Borges might be one of my favorite authors, I love his short stories
Me: Marry me
She: what did you say?
Me: Wait, was that out loud?

The Return of the King

2006-01-31T04:54:00.000-08:00

A dark shadow had been cast across the kingdom of West Philadelphia. Cold winter rested in the rooms where the radiator no longer worked. And the great seat of the king found in the great chamber of the kingdom stood empty, only the echoing sobs of the common folk to keep it company.

He had been missing for many months. The steps outside of his complex where always empty, ne'er was he there to beg a cigarette or warn thee of alien infiltration. Perhaps the new cold kept him inside? O, how nice a thought that would be! But even on the Indian Summer days of this apocalyptic winter the king's all-seeing perch remained vacant. The birds heralded his emergence in vain, and the drunks passed his place with a small nod of reverence but nothing could draw his majesty back out.

In a region of the country where it's projected the murder rate rose seven percent in the last year, hopes for missing persons, even a missing king, were futile. I stayed away from the obituary page and even refused to check the crime reports as I had been so used to doing (okay so maybe I did this to see how close the crime was to my place, but then it was on my corner so I stopped checking).

I had given King Arthur up to West Philadelphia, perhaps he had given himself up as sacrifice for his loyal, non-alien subjects. But such a sacrifice had not brought peace to our lands, and I wrestled with the idea that the life and death of King Arthur, the well-spring of urban wisdom/nonsense had all been for naught.

I was wrestling with such thoughts as I trekked through the always dangerous clark park and I then I hear a "hey big guy." Now a small digression: everyone in this area calls me big guy, the drunks, the cute girl at the corner store, everyone. I mean I don't think my size is that diminutive, but I guess I small enough to prompt people to say the exact opposite of my actual stature. Of course King Arthur was the first on the block to call me such, and the intonation of the voice made my heart flutter.

I raised my troubled head and there he was. The goatee was still there, as was the close cropped hair and he was fitted with a heavy winter parka, blue. Things moved in slow motion but happened all at once. He asked me how I was doing and gave me the fisted handshake without breaking his stride while I, on the other hand, stood there motionless.

I snapped to my senses and forced out "Where have you been?"

"Oh I moved up to 62 street, to many shades around this area for me."

62 street! Never have a traveled to such a region, and the stories they tell I can not attest to the veracity of them. It could be a land of paradise, a street right outside of the ghetto jungle, or it could be right on the edge, trapped with the sight of glorious suburbs torturing an inhabitant. Either way it's a hard place to make it mentally, but of course we're talking about the man who was going to take all fallacy and execute every single person on earth.

"Hey big guy, do you have any cigarettes?"

Blast my insolence! I'd let my guard down, I hadn't been prepared for the return of the king. I hadn't been waiting in the wings, I gone on with my life, with not a thought to his needs if/when he returned. I slowly, sullenly shook my head in response.

And he laughed! Dear reader he laughed!

"Oh that's a good thing right? You still running?"

He didn't give me time to answer and tell him that no, I had not completely quit smoking, but yes I still ran with some regularity. But maybe the king just doesn't need to know certain things.

This was a couple weeks ago, and yes I apologize for the delay in the post (though only a select few will know and care about this post--if you're totally lost please check the archives). His majesty has not reappeared, has not returned from the netherlands of 62ND Street. But I guess I can't expect too much, he's not a tame king.

So You've Never Heard of...?

2006-01-19T05:34:00.000-08:00

This is an idea that I'll probably end up recycling, and I chose a really easy option for the first one. Nick I'm throwing the next step in this idea to you.

It's bound to happen. You'll talking to some beautiful blonde at the bar (and I'm not trying to be stereotypical, this happened) and the conversation is great. But then the topic of music comes up and she says she likes Wilson Phillips and still listens to the last Train album with much adoration.

Now it's not you're place to judge people's music taste but as the Junior Senior song goes: "There's too much good stuff out there to ignore." So you begin to rattle of a laundry list of best of bands, Bloc Party, Wolf Parade, CYHSY, Okkervil River, only to get a blank stare in return (and with the last name she probably thinks you cursed at her). So you dive deeper, going further back in time, returning to the seminal music of your life. Weezer? "Oh Yeah, they did that Beverly Hills song right?"Dammit!. Green Day? "I like the time of you life song" You mean Good Riddance. Pearl Jam? "Who?"

You try and explain to her the virtues of this band that you used to love. Maybe you haven't listened to them in awhile, but everyone (in your mind at least) should know a little Pearl Jam. So she asks you if perhaps you could make her a short cd of songs. Now notice she said short, so we're talking EP length, and she seems like a busy girl so, I mean, six songs at the most. But what six songs are you going to pick? What six songs best represent Pearl Jam to you? You spend many a sleepless night, tossing and turning, and then the the six songs come to you, as in a dream imparted by the angel Gabriel.

1) Alive - This song made you sit in your room for hours on end, practicing scales, honing your picking, learning how to bend the strings. You would lock yourself away on friday nights to practice, even if you had something better to do (which often you didn't), just so eventually you could play the solo to this song.

2) Yellow Ledbetter - You might think, yes you can't understand Eddie here, but with his voice do you really care? I mean if you look up the words they don't make any sense anyways. The only part you really understand the first time is when Eddie says "make me cry" to Mike McCready. And Mike does make you cry, one because the solo is amazing and two because you realize that all your practicing to play "Alive" only got you halfway ready to play a song like this.

3) Last Kiss - a controversial pick and you know in your heart that maybe you shouldn't have it on there. But you know the single was a smart cover, and it became somewhat popular, a brief resurgence of Pearl Jam after the failure of their fourth and fifth albums.

4) Courduroy - Off the sometimes despised Vitology album, but you know you listened to it over and over. It was missing the great guitar lines of the first two albums, but they were really starting to experiment with sound. In your mind this song sort of acts as a bridge between the old rocking out Pearl Jam and the Pearl Jam that would be more weird and eventually release "There he goes, in his perfect unkempt clothes"

5)Hail, Hail - Okay admit it, you only like one song after PJ's third album. You really, really tried to like there other stuff (outside of the singles of course) but you just couldn't do it. Something was almost annoying about them. But you liked this song and you're trying to convince this girl that Pearl Jam was (is) good so you have to pick a song from the later catalogues.

6) Daughter - Worried that you lost her with pick five, I mean it's just not as good as the other stuff, you come back and end with a Pearl Jam Song that is impossible to dislike. I mean who can really dislike this song? If they do they either don't have a pulse or were grounded everytime mommy found them to listening to something other than acappella christian music.

So there you have it. It's not perfect, it's just an introduction, an attempt at a first impression. More to come later.

Songs of Love

2006-01-09T08:41:00.000-08:00

Nick and I have been torturing each other with various lists of songs or rearrangements of albums. Why? Well for one, we are freaks, and two it’s far too much fun—even if most other people don’t quite care to read these entries.

However Nick’s last challenge “Falling in Love in the Key of C” has been quite hard for me (please see side bar, I don’t know how to put links in the text yet). Nick’s premise was fairly simple, if a little vague: list the songs that have taught you about love.

Now Nick has been dating the beautiful and sweet Abby since freshman year (for the most part) and therefore has a right to compose such a list of love. But me? I’m the guy who, having made out with only five different girls last semester, severely damaged his overall “batting” average. The guy who dated two girls at once on a campus as small as DePauw’s—and to this day I don’t think they are aware of that fact. Elin says I should come with a warning label. Beth says (jokingly) that I make her sick. Craft, though quite amused by my antics, claims I’m addicted to conquest. Maybe I am.

In “I (heart) Huckabees” Lily Tomlin asks Jason Schwartzman “Do you even believe in love?” If posed such a question I’d probably have to answer “I don’t know, but I hope it does exist.”

Needless to say I had to take another angle to respond to Nick’s challenge, therefore I have compiled a list of ten songs that I would give to the woman I “love” to both provide a short history explaining how I got to where I am and convince her that I could in fact be a good boyfriend (if only for two weeks…).

1) Come Pick Me Up – Ryan Adams
At the balloon party last year this song came on and Blake kept drunkenly repeating over and over again “This is a love song, guys, this is a love song.” It surely is and it also encapsulates how I used to want (and probably still want) to be in love. To give myself completely over to someone and revel in the pain that comes with rejection and scorn .

2) Love Ridden – Fiona Apple
Craft gave me this song on a mix cd junior year and it brought back far too many memories of high school and a period in my life where I was hopelessly romantic and constantly having my heart trampled on (yes I know that’s dramatic but hey I was in high school). The line “only kisses on the cheek from now on” reminded of me of the girl I thought I loved who, after she started dating my best friend instead of me, would always kiss me on the cheek not knowing how it burned.

3) Girl From the North Country – Bob Dylan (The Freewheelin’ version)
In continuing with the heartache theme at the beginning of the disc this song tell of how for ages I wished (and maybe I still wish the same today) that the aforementioned girl thought of me everyone and awhile.

4) Motorcycle Drive By – Third Eye Blind
Say what you will about Third Eye Blind but junior year of high school after I found out that the girl, the one who keeps coming up, had been cheating on me with my best friend for two months this album “caught” me. Especially this song: “I’ll get over you/ you don’t know who I am.” It was about be alone and accepting it and rejoicing in it and realizing the freedom such loneliness gave you.

5) You Will. You? Will. – Bright Eyes
After E went insane and C turned out to be sweet but far too docile I gave up on trying to be serious, realizing that my outlook on relationships was still colored by the girl from high school. This song is about making “her” miss you. Instead of being the one left standing alone on Valentine’s Day with a cd you recorded for her, a cd where you wrote the song and played and sang it with all your heart but instead she walks by you with a beautiful bouquet from you best friend, you leave. Maybe you’ll return, maybe you won’t. I’m not addicted to conquest, I’m addicted to being able to do this, make someone miss me.

6) Winters Love – Animal Collective
Senior year this nearly unintelligible song renewed by belief in love. When the song really kicks in halfway through it’s a religious experience and the world seems so full of Love that it’s unendurable. It’s unendurable.

7) A King and A Queen – Okkervil River
Renewing my theme early on the disc of giving myself over to someone else but with less tragedy and more poetry. The fact that the lyrics exist in a fantasy realm, in a sphere of pain and violence may not bode well. Nevertheless this song represents how I want to be in love again.

8) La Valse d’Amelie (The Waltz of Amelie) – Yann Tiersen
I want to fall in love in a world of green and red with this piano ballad not playing through any speaker but simply existing in the air I breathe in as I sit in a café in the south of France.
Or maybe I just want to meet and fall in love with Audrey Tatou.

9) Say Yes – Elliot Smith
Cheesy and cliché I know but when you think about love is it ever anything but? Usually when I wake up the next morning I seize the first moment to leap out of bed and wait in some other room with coffee until she leaves, or if I wake up somewhere other than my residence I quietly sneak out (feel free to leave the comment “jackass” on this post). But the line in this song “I didn’t know I’d be around the morning after” shows that I want to wake up and not have that feeling, that I want to wake up and remain where I am.

10) On The Nature of Daylight – Max Richter
In Proust’s novella “Swann in Love” M. Swann has a piece of music that he associates with falling in love with and falling out of love with Odette. It’s a melody in a certain movement that rushes into his ears and fills his mind with memories and indescribable images. The composition Proust mentions does not actually exist so I just substituted this instrumental in when I was reading the tale. I don’t know exactly what I mean by putting this at the end and to be honest I don’t want to look inward anymore to find out, feeling as though I’ve said too much already.

Playing God: Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

2006-01-05T08:55:00.000-08:00

Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness meant and means an indescribable amount to me. It is my middle school experience—listening to it on my discman on the morning school bus and letting it color my perception of all the other people on the bus. In eighth grade my dad took it away from me, lyrics like “And God is empty just like me” and “I still believe that I cannot be saved” didn’t go over in our very Christian household.

I rediscovered the album when I lived with Nick freshman year and he would go on Smashing Pumpkin binges, introducing me to the rest of their catalogue, their lives performances and some scene of Billy Corgan singing by himself in some foreign country. However Mellon Collie remained my favorite, and yes I’ve listened to Siamese Dreams many times.

But recently I’ve gotten into arguments with people that don’t care for Mellon Collie at all, thinking that it was “such a letdown after Siamese Dream.” Now personally I can’t understand such a statement, but it didn’t help my position that cokemachineglow also listed my beloved album as a disappointment.

Stylus magazine has a feature called “Playing God” where they take old albums that they think could have been much better. For example they rearranged Pablo Honey, trying to make it a better precursor to The Bends. They didn’t do it right but I’m stealing their idea anyways. I’m going to make Mellon Collie the follow-up that everyone apparently wanted. This turned out to be quite a painful process because I went for broke: Siamese Dream clocked in under an hour, so I took the massive two hours and one minute of Mellon Collie and forced it under and hour.

Yes I hate myself and here it is:

1) Jelly Belly – This album is no longer an opus, it’s a kick-you-in-the-teeth rock album meant to surpass Siamese Dream so no starting out with that wimpy instrumental shit. We must start out with a bang.
2) Bullet With Butterfly Wings – In my opinion “Zero” is the perfect follower to Jelly Belly, but in trying to change the feel of this album, to make it an album that somewhat matches up with it’s predecessor “Bullet” seemed the more logical choice.
3) Here Is No Why – On Siamese Dream “Today” cools things down but keeps the crunching guitars, which “Here is No Why” does as well as filling the coveted three spot with a one of the best tracks on the original album.
4) Love – This song is pushed further back on Dawn to Dusk but matches up with “Hummer” off Siamese Dream better than other tracks and it effectively keeps the crunch guitar effect going.
5) Zero – Best opening riff they have. With the previous four songs the listener should not get bored (a complaint most people have with the first two tracks of the original) and this song should kick the listener on his ass within five seconds.
6) Bodies – on Siamese Dream the Pumpkins really slow things down with “Disarm” in the six spot but for some reason I couldn’t give up the momentum the album’s been building to this point so I reached back to Twilight to Starlight and pulled this song way up.
7) 1979 – This is the best track on Mellon Collie and maybe in the Pumpkins entire catalogue, but by God they make you work for it on the original. They pushed it to the fifth track on the second disc, which added to the songs allure, as a listener you felt like you’d discovered it. I almost pushed it even farther back than seven, but I got anxious and while listening I found myself anticipating it far too much to wait longer than seven spots.
8) Muzzle – You need an uplifting song following “1979” not that it’s a depressing song but it sort of forces you inward and you need to be brought back out and this is probably one of the most uplifting songs the Pumpkins have recorded.
9) In The Arms of Sleep – For some reason I just couldn’t pick up the momentum after “Muzzle” my ears were tired and needed a break, this song was perfect.
10) Where Boys Fear To Tread – To be honest this song does sound a bit out of place, but I like it too much not to have it on the album. It works better when you know you still have a whole disc to follow it but serves to bring the slowness of “In The Arms of Sleep.”
11) Stumbeline – Both of these songs address the issues of loneliness and fear, just in completely different ways. So while they sounds completely different sonically I think the themes allow them to be side by side.
12) X.Y.U. – Siamese Dream had the eight minute “Silverfuck” so the new Mellon Collie needed a long rock song that was overindulgent. It came down to this one and “Thru the Eyes of a Ruby” and I’ve just always liked this one better.
13) To Forgive – The album’s run out of steam after “X.Y.U.” and all it can offer up is this tender song as a closer…
14) Tonight, Tonight – But wait! What’s this? Strings? What is this new sound emanating from the Pumpkins? It’s the sound that did open the original album and should have opened this one had I not been trying to create Siamese Dream II.

Total albums time: 57:30

It all means so much...5-1

2005-12-15T09:56:00.000-08:00

Sorry this is posted extremely early but I must succumb to the fact that I'm taking a final later today and that I must afterwards study until I take my last final tomorrow morning.

5) Spoon – Gimme Fiction
Over Thanksgiving my brother and I were driving up to Louisville and he asked, “Hey can we listen to Spoon?”
“Of course,” I said. Now there’s something you must know about my brother, he likes good music like Spoon and Animal Collective and Bloc Party because I tell him to. I tell him “David this is really good you need to listen to this and like it” and he does—but I’ve never been able to figure out if he really likes the music or if it’s a younger brother trying to please the older brother type of deal.
Last semester Kyle would expound upon how Gimme Fiction was some sort of requiem to rock and roll and how the lyrics of every song all tied to one major theme. It sounded good but I never really understood and so often phased out what he was saying—sorry Kyle.
“I like how all these songs talk about Rock and Roll and how most people don’t really play it anymore,” my brother said gazing straight ahead unaware of the atomic phrase-bomb he had just uttered.
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. I think you really have to know my brother to really understand my awe but that fact that my brother got it, that he understood something about this album that I never paid attention to pushed this album into the top 5—along with the other reasons everyone else has mentioned.

4) Wolf Parade – Apologies to Queen Mary
When I first heard the name Wolf Parade I quietly thought to myself, “That’s maybe the worst band name I’ve heard, save for the one about clapping.” I kept thinking about this kid in middle school that always wore this black shirt with a wolf howling on it—he also wore tight levi’s, cowboy boots and would maliciously refer to me as “mexi,” the association was not a good one.
I downloaded the EPs over the summer just because I didn’t have a job and was bored, but I think I had them on my ipod for about two weeks before I listened to them. Now lately I’ve been kicked on my ass many times, by Latin, by Greek, by that fact that I have bills—I’ve grown accustomed to it and I’ve actually begun to enjoy it because I often get locked into my own set of individual opinions of the way things are and that’s no way to live life.
Well the EPs and the following album thoroughly kicked me on my ass. A band with the name Wolf Parade and a horrible association in my mind kicks ass! I get so fired up when I listen to this album that I want to find the guy that wore the wolf shirt, tell him that he doesn’t deserve to have ever worn that shirt and then kick him on his ass.
Okay so I didn’t talk about music much in this, suffice it to say that if the music was not loud, intelligent, and entirely too much fun I would not have it at number four.

3) Bright Eyes – I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning
I jumped on the Bright Eyes bandwagon probably a year after “Lifted…” came out—which I understand is rather late in the game to saddle up with Conor Oberst but for some reason I absolutely don’t care.
Earlier I mentioned that Ryan Adams had tapped into some wellspring of lyricism, well Oberst, after trekking through the desert named “taking yourself to seriously” and through the treacherous jungle of “you can’t sing you just sound like you’re whining,” he came to the ocean of profound lyrics. He now swims in said ocean beneath the stars of impeccable melody and the moon of joyful depression.
Okay dramatic: real reason I put this album at number three:
“Well I could have been a famous singer/If I had someone else’s voice/ But failures always sounded sweeter/ Let’s fuck it up know boys, MAKE SOME NOISE!!!”
Cacophonous/euphonic noise/wonderment ensues.

2) Okkervil River – Black Sheep Boy
I’m championing the cause that is Okkervil River. I could write a whole entry addressing the lyrics how they are the musical rendering of Gallow Kinnel's "The Book of Nightmares." How they tie together in come overarching theme concept and that once you understand the lines “If I could tear his throat/ spill his blood between my jaws” are a profound expression of true love.
Or I could write pages about how Will Sheff makes Conor sound like a whiny little bitch. How, like Ayn Rand’s “John Galt machine,” he absorbs all the sadness and heartache and insanity around him and sings as if his body is completely overwhelmed. Or how Sheff is not afraid to let his voice drop to a mere whisper as he tells the most heartbreaking story committed to tape this year.
I could go on and on about how the music sounds as if the band is playing behind chicken wire in a honky tonk bar in East Texas, trying not to get killed by proffering pounding basslines, but appeasing the gods of music by adding trumpets and accordions and falsetto. How they perfectly use dynamics, loud and soft, harsh and mild.
But really I just want to say that this album gets under my skin, invades my veins and ruins my heart.

1) Sufjan Stevens – Illinois
Every one I met told me I needed to read The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie. People kept saying how it was one of the best things they’d read and going on and on about the controversy it had caused that my expectations became so high that I almost didn’t want to read it because I was sure to be disappointed. And then I read the first section and Gibreel Farista and Saladin Chamcha are fucking falling out of the sky and then Farista sings and they fucking fly…I was not disappointed.
It was the same with Sufjan Stevens’ Illinois, my expectation after Greetings from Michigan were so high that I was almost certain of disappointment—I just knew I wasn’t going to like it and that my short love affair with timid poet was over. And then the album opened with the opening piano lines of “Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland, IL.” From that moment on it was over.
I want to weep every time I listen to “John Wayne Gacy, Jr.” I seize up when he hits the falsetto at the tail end of “They Are Night Zombies.” I simply stop everything and listen to “The Predatory Wasps of the Pallisades Are Out to Get Us!”
This album is a novel, the kind of novel that you read slowly because it’s a good friend that’s always waiting with a smile and a kind word every time you get home. Sorry that this is mainly analogy, I can’t do it any other way.

And there it goes...10-6

2005-12-14T18:21:00.000-08:00

Please read all comments and then pass judgement, hateful remarks and bestow righteous condemnation. Oh and sorry for the length, I'm tired and loquacious and I took the GRE yesterday so also excuse any big unneeded words.

10) Nickel Creek – Why Should the Fire Die?
I should start this entry out with how I’m ashamed and I hate myself, but I’m not ashamed and I don’t hate myself. But Austin, they play these guys on CMT. Yeah I know, kiss my ass.
Allmusic’s James Monger put it best when he wrote this album is “the progressive bluegrass/folk-pop genre’s response to Radiohead’s Kid A.” It’s not but that’s not my point. Most who watch CMT aren’t going to understand what an attempt at “a response to Kid A” means, and most that would understand aren’t going to listen to Nickel Creek because well it’s Nickel Creek. They’ve cast themselves into the netherhell of the indefinable and since their major label prodigies they can’t cop out and call themselves “indie”—which makes this one of the more courageous albums of 2005.
All the members can flat play and seemed to have simultaneously lost their significant other and/or their faith. They funnel all this angst and doubt and talent into this album that has everything from orgasmic harmonies to references to James Joyce’s Eveline to lyrics like “let’s find a god we can pray to/ that will take you back” that will upset their evangelical Christian base. It’s not a response to Kid A, but it’s as close as bluegrass will get but since they had the marbles to release such an attempt I’ll pay homage by having the stones to put them in my top ten.

WIBCYHSY: The beautiful, simplistic complexity of the bridge in “She Can’t Complain” and the fact that the title track is probably one of the saddest songs committed to tape.

9) My Morning Jacket – Z
Nick and Mike have both given this album well crafted praise and I won’t try to rival or imitate them, because I couldn’t measure up, so I’m left with my mere emotional reasons for placing this album in the top ten.
For the past ten years, and even at times today, If people ask me where from, and I take this question to mean where am I really from, I answer Texas: once a Texan always a Texan even with the Idiot in office. I’m forever homesick Texas, but I’ve never really missed Kentucky though I’ve had to list as my permanent residence for ten years. But this album makes me homesick for Kentucky because it sounds like Kentucky. “Wordless Chorus” – the drive through the cattle and cornfields I made every morning on the drive to school. “Gideon” – the cabins surrounding Green River. “Off The Record” – the mysterious, purgatorial glow of Bardstown Road.
I could go on. This album forced itself into my history, insinuating itself into short film reels of my past in Kentucky—giving my life an appropriate soundtrack, albeit rather late.

WIBCYHSY: The Al green infused yelps at the end of “Wordless Chorus” that CYHSY would never and could never attempt.

8) The Decemberists – Picaresque
I read and write and listen to music to escape, I always have. I was the nerdy kid with the horn-rimmed glasses spending most of recess reading sci-fi novels. Which means at an early age I became quite bored with regular, mundane life. I still constantly imagine my daily activities infused with angelic entities and sword-wielding pirates that would suddenly pull out laser guns.
And then the Decemberists dropped Picaresque and I slightly changed my perspective. In the past Colin Meloy has confined himself to paying homage to pirates and eulogizing Spaniards, but on this album the most moving moments are when he concentrates on modern day occupations. There are certain lines that constantly echo in the back of my head: “There are power lines in our blood lines,” “We’re kings among runaways on the bus mall,” and “There’s a tough word on your crossword.”
These are lines about real life, but it’s real life through the lens of the Decemberists and it seems so interesting. This album made me realize that the day to day can become a mythology, can hold some secret untold story, something other than my digital clock slowing eating away on it’s appetite of numbers.

WIBCYHSY: When they take a cliché line like “And if you don’t love me let me go” and make it break your heart.

7) The Gorillaz – Demon Days
An amazing single can be a blessing and a curse. In most cases it serves to attract the masses to an album and if the album holds up it become acclaimed and a best seller and the next thing you know the band’s living it up at the playboy mansion.
But with a white hot single like “Feel Good Inc.” an album can be eclipsed, especially in the Internet age where people can download just one song. Nothing on the Demon Days measures up to “Feel Good Inc.” but it’s still a freaking amazing album. I know there’s some rule against ranking a side project this high, especially a cartoon one, but I think there’s also some rule against a side project being this good. This album is proof that overindulgence and sci-fi obsession can produce good and quality music.

WIBCYHSY: You think the album’s blown its wad after “Every Planet We Find Is Dead” but then a quarter of a minute into “Another November Has Come” you hear the all to familiar flow of MF Doom, and it is at this moment you realize you haven’t even made it to “DARE”—you even begin to look forward to the monkey mountain narration at the end.

6) Iron and Wine – Woman King
This album reminds me of those lazy, hot summer afternoons I always hated because I was sweaty and bored and pining for the interesting leaves of fall and the creative chill of winter. But when I heard this album I new immediately I was missing something, some fountain of inspiration and beauty that I’d never tapped and most likely never will tapped. Iron & Wine exists in a realm of creation that I think for me is unattainable and I both fear and respect that.

WIBCYHSY: In the song “Evening On The Ground (Lilith’s Song)” Beam willowy voice utters: “We were born to fuck each other one way or the other” and I am completely stunned every time. It reminds me of the first time Blake read me “Against Botticelli” by Robert Hass and that line that I will never forget: “It’s different in kind from a man and the pale woman/ he fucks in the ass underneath the stars/ because it’s summer and they are full of longing/ and sick of birth.” Vulgarity in the midst of beauty: I realize it does not befoul but augment the already present beauty.

It may hit the fan 15-11

2005-12-13T18:31:00.000-08:00

15) Kanye West – Late Registration
Listens 1-2: Kanye is the hip-hop god! Best album of the year! Listens 3-4: Okay there’s a possibility I don’t like “We Major” but Jon Brion is awesome and Kanye’s still one of best producers around! Listens 5-6: Brandy? Really Kanye? Was Monica busy? And why is the best track Just Blaze’s “Touch the Sky”? Listens 7-8: There’s a possibility I don’t like “Crack Music,” “Bring Me Down” or “Drive Slow.” And I hate “We Major”…with a passion. Listens 9-10: Okay so a definitely don’t like those songs, “Golddigger” has lost its initial charm and I don’t appreciate “Roses” as a tribute to his dead grandmother. The irony is a bit lost on me when I drive past 52nd street. Am I going to put this on my list? “Yep, I got it from here K-damn.” – Whatever you say Mr. Carter. At the end of the day this is still one of the best hip-hop albums on the market and Kanye still knows what he's doing behind the studio console.

14) M. Ward – Transistor Radio
This pick is for mi abuelita—which makes it hard to write about. She recently decided she was tired of being old, sick and tired so she basically starved herself to death. I was listening to this album when my dad called and told me. The crackle and old time feel of this album immediately created an indelible image in my mind.
My grandmother and I are sitting together in her din that always had a sort of sepia tone glow to it—we are sitting silently of course because I do not speak the language of the dead. But even though no words pass between us I know she’s rejoicing in not being alive, and with this album about death and poverty and love playing in the background I’m happy for her.

13) Andrew Bird – The Mysterious Production of Eggs
I put this album on at RJ’s house when a couple of his friends were over. “I’m not sure if I’m sophisticated enough to be listening to this album, RJ,” one of his friends quipped. And he was right.
This album is not meant for nights pounding Coors light, smoking Marlboro Reds and eating Pizza Express. To listen to this album you must don your smoking jacket, sip Spanish red wine and nibble on a baguette with Brie. All the while you must first acknowledge you are acting highly cultured, have the required liberal guilt for those who can’t appreciate such a setting and be absolutely and utterly fine with the fact that you’re a pretentious bastard.

12) Bloc Party – Silent Alarm
Oh don’t worry, I’ve only just begin to destroy my snobby “indie cred.”
These guys have gone many places with me this whole year. I listen to it while running, while studying and while driving to Chicago with Ty. Not many records are so versatile. I can sit and thoroughly enjoy Andrew Bird in a dim room but I’m not going to take him on my Rocky run up the Philadelphia Art Museum.
People accuse these guys of trying to hard, being too earnest. And maybe they do try to hard but I’ll take that over aloofness, over “we’re to talented to try hard,” over “the GRE is beneath me why should I pay attention to it, or finals for that matter? They cannot gage my intelligence!” Wait we’re talking about Bloc Party (cough) yeah they rock.

11) Clap Your Hands Say Yeah – Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Slap your face say shut up. That’s basically what I’m saying by placing the hipster darlings of 2005 outside the top ten. But that’s not what I mean at all. I really enjoy this album, it’s solid and simple and when I’m listening to it I am never anything less than content.
The problem is I’m never any more than content. This album unconsciously became the focal point of my list. It would climb then fall, fighting epic battles with every album above, battles that left it bruised and scarred. Here’s the thing, there is not a moment on this album that commanded me to stop and listen. Necessitating the need for a “Why It Beat Clap Your Hands Say Yeah” section for every album in the top ten—the moment when they slew the mighty indie beast.
And don’t get me wrong this is a great album, even if you don’t like his voice the music is brilliant.

My Top Albums of 2005, 20-16

2005-12-12T18:47:00.000-08:00

20) Vashti Bunyan – Lookaftering
Bunyan’s music makes a perpetual hum, a hum that captures the essence of silence on a winter’s evening in a diner in North Dakota. The comforting presence of a cup of black coffee in an off-white mug under phosphorescent lights in the middle of a stark white and darkened landscape, the old counter lady leans over and asks silently with her old eyes whether you would like something more and you say no. You are completely content. Bunyan’s music paints this scene.

19) Architecture in Helsinki – In Case We Die
You know, life is awful hard. There are mice in your kitchen, everywhere you need to go is far away and Greek is fucking difficult. And what’s worse: everyone has it better. The live in better apartments, eat better food and have significant others. Forget hard, life sucks.
AIH encapsulates this feeling of inadequacy and futility for the first minutes and a half of “In Case We Die.” And then they slap you in the face and tell you to stop whining. Instead of allowing you to complain they demand that you perform the mathematics of five and do the whirlwind (do the whirlwind dammit!).
There music is infinitely cute (or twee) and just the fact that they can make such music in this world makes those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches taste gourmet.

18) Vitalic – OK Cowboy
I can really listen to this album on repeat and not get bored or annoyed by it. The songs are both simple and complex. When you fall asleep to this album (which I’ve often done) this duality infiltrates your dreams and creates scenes of blacklighted, underground dance clubs where after some dancing you get involved in a Matrix-like “I know Kung Fu” fights with these black leather gangs named Daft Punk and LCD Soundsystem. After either throwing all of them through brick walls or riddling them with slow motion bullets you proceed triumphantly down the isle in the court of the republic to accept your medal while “Valletta Fanfare” roars in the distance.
Wait, you didn’t have that dream?

17) The Books – Lost and Safe/ Prefuse 73 – Prefuse Reads the Books
You say cheating, I say loophole.
The Books makes music that I want to break down, analyze and somehow reach some summit of understanding. More than once I’ve been tempted to produce some sort of scholarly work on the audio clips with the painter on “Lost and Safe” –paying close attention to the noises and samples between the clips.
But then Prefuse 73 dropped this EP and I scrapped this idea. What I wanted to do would have merely suffocated The Books, what Prefuse does is destroy them, sow them together and further disrupt your perception of reality—and almighty Jove gives his blessing.

16) Anthony and The Johnsons – I Am a Bird Now
On the song, “What Can I Do?” the first voice you here is Rufus Wainwright not Antony’s haunting-I-know-no-other-descriptor voice. And as the song continues the only voice you hear is still Sir Wainwright’s and you begin to wonder if you’re listening to the same album. And then the song swells into a climax and Antony’s voice, pushed way to the background in the mix, begins to envelope Rufus’ strong voice. Then Antony’s voice comes in sonorous waves and sweeps you away to this paradox of joy and sadness. And then you wash up on shore of reality, confused and happy. That is all I want to say.

25-21

2005-12-11T18:45:00.000-08:00

I won’t write a long introduction, I’ll just say this list was a very, very bad thing for me to undertake during finals season. If I end up with bad grades I will blame this list, because of instead of allowing me to study Greek it insisted that I switch the albums at ten and eleven and then switch them back, and then strike one of the albums from the list and then, of course, put it back.

25) The Kallikak Family – May 23, 2007
I do not understand this album. I don’t even know if it’s music. There are instruments, and voices and a song-like structure arises twice—is that music? Much of the time they use static, and jarring exclamation points. The opening track “Organ Tuning/Surgery” is exactly what it says: a long drawn out organ note slowly finds it’s voice and fills the empty space you didn’t even know existed. While writing about this album I realize I don’t understand the aesthetic the members have in mind.
Maybe this isn’t the greatest way to begin my top 25, but allow me to explain. All these questions of its music quality and what the artists are trying to accomplish could distract from the enjoyment of the music (or whatever) but it doesn’t. Instead my mind takes off and creates and concentrates. I don’t understand why, and that’s just fine.

24) Jens Lekman – Oh You’re So Silent Jens
The late release of this album completely destroyed my top 25. Not only because I realized it was a better album than those I’d already included but also because I can’t stop listening to it.
In high school people would always make me play guitar at group gatherings, and though they tried they could not get me to sing. However, my friend Steve was always more than willing to sing—the only problem being he didn’t know any of the words to any of the songs I knew how to play. So I would make up music on the spot and he would sing completely literal lyrics about the girl in history class that everyone loved. I didn’t take that sort of creation serious because it wasn’t laden with metaphor and intricate description. Well Jens Lekman apparently used to do the same thing but he took it seriously (and he didn’t take it seriously) and now he makes beautiful, beautiful music.

23) Dangerdoom – The Mouse And The Mask
I love MF Doom. I love most things Dangermouse has touched. I love Adult Swim. This album was a given for me. It’s completely juvenile and completely intelligent at the same time. The appearance of pure fun with a lurking underbelly of well crafted verbal insults.
The Aqua Teen Hunger Force skits thrown in between the songs are flat out hilarious. But I would not recommend laughing out loud when you are listening to it on headphones while walking down the street, because then people ask you what’s so funny and you try to explain but it simply doesn’t work.

22) Art Brut – Bang Bang Rock and Roll
I came across these guys over the summer and initially they blew my mind. “Good Weekend” and “Emily Kane” were simply amazing songs and I was that annoying guy that made everyone I knew listen to them. Most just gave me an odd look, thinking Art Brut was some sort of parody. And maybe Art Brut is a parody, I’ve been listening to these guys for months and I still can’t tell whether to take them seriously or laugh out loud.
I like the first half much more than the second half and I can’t decide whether it’s because the early songs are just more solid or if I’m just exhausted by trying to discern their gimmick. Most of the time I don’t worry about that though and think about a brand new girlfriend: “I’ve seen her naked twice, I’ve seen here naked TWICE.”

21) Ryan Adams – Cold Roses
Ryan Adams came out with THREE albums this year, which at first pissed me off because I thought it would be impossible for Adams to release three even semi-quality albums. But he did. And I both hate and love him for it. The first two are good albums and what I’ve heard of the third one, it’s much better than it should be. Alas, I decided I could pick only one Ryan Adams for my list.
Ryan Adams writes lyrics about drinking, heartache, the occasional bar fight and not much else. I know I’ve heard those chord changes in a song before (possibly another Ryan Adams song) so I can’t quite give him points for originality. But for some reason that doesn’t bother me. Adams has tapped into something: a vein of lyricism or a wellspring of honky-tonk arrangement that most people do not even believe exists. The fact that he knows this is both frustrating and endearing.

West Philadelphia...

2005-12-08T05:02:00.000-08:00

I shivered shirtless in the winter wind as I leaned out of our front window, my hands digging into the snow of the ledge as I stretched to see our front door at 5:20 a.m.. I froze, in a more figurative sense although it was freezing.

In my dream I hadn't had to lean out the window, I'd been able to simply press my face hard against the pane and see directly down to our front door and there stood a figure dressed in black. He stood there waiting, staring at the door, black robes flowing around his body. He had rung our front door bell, but it being 5 a.m. I was going to run down the stairs to open the door--thus the reason I was peering in fear out the window. But as evil characters always do, he sensed that I was looking at him and his visage shot up in my direction, a face composed of maggots and fleas and burning eyes. In my dream I crawled back to bed and then stepped out of my dream. It had been pretty vivid and not just a little scary. The figure in black had felt like death, he had sent chills down my dreamed up spine.

I felt like a little kid, scared of my own dream, scared of The Man In Black, oooooooo. But eventually my young adult mind told myself it had just been a dream and I began to drift back off into sleep reaching that middle ground between sleep and wakefulness...when the our doorbell went of again.

Now I didn't know if it was a recurring dream, or if our doorbell had actually rung at 5 a.m. but needless to say I snapped right back into full conscious state. Partly because I did not know if our doorbell had actually rung, and partly because I did not want to have that dream again.

I laid there in my bed for quite some time, not being touched by sleep whatsoever, trying to think about other things, such as the homework I would undertake in about two hours, and how in two hours coffee would taste fantastic.

Then the doorbell rung again.

I'd been completely cognizant, our doorbell had actually rung and most likely it had actually rung the first two times as well. The very first simply incorporating itself into my dream, the second catching my mind off guard.

"Duncan!"

"Yeah I know," Duncan said as he rolled out of bed. Now both of us stood staring out into the dark street through our bay windows. My face was pressed hard up against the window but I could see nothing but a pack of stray dogs rummaging through the garbage on the street.

"Can you see the front door from the window?" Duncan asked.

"No, the stupid ledge beneath our window blocks it," I replied.

We gazed out at the street for a whil longer, seeing if someone would walk away from our door into our plane of vision. For some reason both of our eyes focused on a stray dog that was crossing in front of our door on the other side of the street. Abruptly he turned directly towards our door. He got halfway across the street, froze and quickly turned around running in the complete opposite direction, looking repeatedly over his shoulder like a dog that had just been punished.

This was not a good sign. This was a very very bad sign. We needed to see what stood at our front door.

"I'm looking out the window," I said. I raised the window pane and the screen, which Duncan had to hold up for me.

Which brings us back to the beginning with myself freezing and frozen in the philadelphia winter air. Below the ledge standing and staring at our door was a black man dressed all in black. The clothes weren't flowing robes but rather black jeans and a black parka, but in the small hours of the morning same same.

I basically leapt back into the apartment and Duncan shut the window.

"No one there?" he asked.

"Yes but certainly not anyone we know," I said.

"shit."

"yeah."

We both sort of stood there for a little bit and then Duncan went to the kitchen to get a drink. My mind was running, coming up with possibilities as to why the person was ringing our doorbell. Maybe he was homeless and cold. Maybe he figured we had stuff worth stealing in our apartment. Maybe he'd decided it was time to take care of the non-black people on the block...the mind runs wild that early in the morning.

"He's ringing the bell in the upstairs apartment too, I heard it," Duncan said.

For some reason that made me feel better, at least our scary experience was a shared one.

I didn't really fall back asleep but eventually the sun came up and I was able to start my day like normal. Chocking the morning events up to a West Philly experience.

Getting into Music

2005-12-03T14:50:00.000-08:00

A reviewer for Cokemachineglow once wrote that everyone has their “starter” music: that album or that group of songs that gets you interested in music. He pointed out that many times that music is not the best or maybe not even good, but it leads you to other music. He admitted that he started with Bush, but that then led him back to Nirvana (of course) and then the pixies and the smiths and so forth.
Well for this list I’ve decided to list the top ten songs that got me into music. Some of them I still love and listen to them all the time. Some of them I don’t even have on my ipod, but I am grateful to them nonetheless.
The period of my musical discovery happened in the latter part of seventh grade the beginning of eighth. I wasn’t really able to buy albums due to parental monitoring so I would tape songs off the rock radio station and then listen to the tapes on my headphones when my parents thought I was sleeping.

10) Undone (The Sweater Song) - Weezer
Most other people would probably have Buddy Holly in this spot but this song resonated with me more. I loved it because of the sparse moments of conversation during the instrumental sections about going to a party and then lyrics hinting at loneliness. Weezer wasn’t invited to the party and because of that their music was good, you connected with their music. Now they are partying at the Playboy mansion and Rivers Cuomo feels the need to speak, not sing—which is why this song is at the bottom.

9) Pure Massacre - Silverchair
I actually saw this video before I heard the song by itself and I was immediately hooked. The opening guitar riff was absolutely haunting and I loved Daniels voice and the fact that he was sixteen and that maybe by the time I was 16 I’d have done something with my life like make a record. No dice. At the time I didn’t care they were the bastard child of Nirvana and Pearl Jam because I didn’t really know what a bastard was (though I pretended to know in the middle school cafeteria) and I hadn’t learned to make those sort of musical connections.

8) When I Come Around – Green Day
American Idiot is not a bad album, but it is certainly not Dookie and therefore all those middle schoolers who now listen to the twenty-first century version are missing out. I’m still not certain if this is supposed to be a happy song but it always put me in a cheery mood and I still have it around.

7) Self-Esteem – The Offspring
Like Weezer, the Offspring is now dead to me. Pretty much ever since they came out with that Pretty Fly For A White Guy bullshit. Now whenever you mention the Offspring everyone always brings up that damn song. No one remembers the genius that was Smash or how this song captured the essence of teenage angst relationships. Okay so I didn’t have a relationship where the girl came over ready to go so I made her dessert, but I wanted to.

6) Possum Kingdom – The Toadies
I recorded this song by accident. Every day I would record the “Pearl Jam” session on 100.5 the Fox radio station and one day I got distracted and forgot to stop recording. It turned out to be one of the best goofs I made. I think I listened to the song for three years before I found out what the name of the song was (Possum Kingdom? What the hell does that mean?) or who sang it (The Toadies?). All I knew was that he was taking someone behind the boat house and doing something bad—and that Jesus was helping.

5) Lightning Crashes – Live
This is the third time I've tried to write about this song. I don't really know what to say, it's not that great of a song and it's certainly not the best on Throwing Copper...we'll try this. I heard it on my headphones, of course, and you know how when you close and the reopen your eyes in the dark they create translucent images in the corners of your room? Well when I did that I saw angels while listening to this song. That's the best I've got.

4) Better Man – Pearl Jam
I wanted to sound like Eddie Vedder. As did puddle of mudd, and staind and all those other shitty bands that I can’t bother remembering. At least I didn’t fulfill my desire. This is not my favorite Pearl Jam song but it is the first one I heard. I’d never heard of the band before but I thought this song was the best thing I’d ever heard (keep in mind I was still mainly listening to Seal and Boys II Men). Again at that point in my life those lyrics meant nothing to me personally but I wanted them to, I think that’s the case with most of these songs. They were talking about things completely foreign to me, describing different worlds that I thought one day I would inhabit.

3) Comedown – Bush
Where do I start? The thriving bass line? The rainbow of sound coming from both guitars? Or the fact that the acoustic version of this song is better than the original? I think the best songs are those that sound good when simply played on an acoustic guitar. This song and Glycerine are the only songs in the Bush catalogue that sound good on an acoustic guitar. I have to say that this song still gets me and I hate Bush, I do I really hate Bush, but I love this song.

2) Wonderwall – Oasis
There’s just something indescribable about this song, and it starts with the first three chords. You know right from the start that this is going to be a good song, before the singing comes, before the magical strings, the perfect drums. That’s what Ryan Adams missed in his cover—it’s a good song but it doesn’t have that intro that proclaims, as only Oasis can, that this is going to be one of the best songs you will ever hear.

1) 1979 – The Smashing Pumpkins
This song should never end. This song should be allowed to play forever, accompanying you to the local convenience store, to class, to the playground. This song should always be around because everything just looks better with this song and memories are that much more crisp and meaningful when gazed through the lens of this song. My girlfriend gave this album to me when I was in seventh grade. I had to hide it from my parents and it took me forever to get past the first disc, but one night I fell asleep to the second disc and I woke up to this song. Before that moment I didn’t know how purely magical music could be.

So those are the songs that got me into music. They are the reason I check pitchfork and allmusic everyday. The reason I get excited passing by a music store. The reason I was able to write a whole entry just ranking the songs on OK Computer.

Bookstore poem

2005-12-02T12:23:00.000-08:00

I

Reading The New Yorker before class in the overbearing campus bookstore
I came across a poem that absolutely destroyed me.
An image of myself on a late night bus grappling with a failed life
but with absolute inability to write about it
in the fashion I was now reading about it.

So I started to copy it out,
to try and render meaningful poetry
by stealing, by merely tracing
letters with my pen.
But then I wrote "against" instead of "again"
and I didn't know what that meant,
nor could I wrap my mind around how the poet was breaking the lines
in no particular pattern.

II

Over break she asked me:
"So how's the spiritual environment in Philadelphia?'
I knew what she was asking so I replied:
"Yes in fact I've found a quite nice church to go to."

I know she doesn't read this but allow me to modify my answer.

stone angels, just babes themselves, gape in wonder
from their precarious leaning position
at how the cloudless sky darkens the winter day,
and at how their rigid seeds of existence
shiver uncontrollably in the river wind
whilst decayed leaves hoping for just
one more chance cling to trees.

How's the spiritual environment in Philadelphia?
Undefinable.

=================

excuse the indulgence, I'll soon return to images of myself taking a shower (per the request of both Elin and abby (sorry blake and nick it's true)) and lists that only myself and few others appreciate.

My Top 12 Radiohead

2005-11-29T05:09:00.000-08:00

Yes, yes I am stealing this idea from Nick who stole it from Radiohead, but after reading his list and realizing my personal list was quite different from his I decided to create my own blog. Besides I am almost certain we bought OK Computer at the same store in Louisville so it's like fated or something that we have the same blog topic.

12) Fittier Happier
I used to quickly skip this song when listening to it in the car with my dad (for some reason I felt I had to convince my dad that he liked Radiohead) because it said "frozen winter shit" and that was a curse word and curse words were bad. And it's a habit I've kept up.

11) The Tourist
When I first bought the CD I read through the entire booklet and most of the lyrics before I had listened to most of the songs. I think I was listening to Subterranean Homesick Alien when I got to the lyrics of The Tourist and I remember wondering how in the world Thom was going to fit those words with any music, much less the sort of music you hear in the first three songs of the album. For that reason it took my awhile to get around to The Tourist because like Nick I rarely went beyond AIrbag and Paranoid Android for weeks. When I first really, really listened to the song on my headphones I still remember thinking "I'm not going to like this song" because I didn't really like the lyrics, but the music could have no other lyrics and those lyrics could have no other music. It's not the most exciting Radiohead song by far but it fits together perfectly. Why do I have it at 11? because this is a list dammit...

10) Subterranean Homesick Alien
I must admit for the longest time I hated this song. I hated it because it wasn't Paranoid Android. I hated it because it had that one high guitar part that always hurt my ears. But then it came on while I was driving home alone from my then girlfriends house. She lived out the country, same as me, but the different end of the country, but I'd found the most back road way possible to and from our houses. And on this particular drive I'd just had the notion that my girlfriend was cheating on my with my best friend (a notion I later learned to absolutely true). And this song was perfect. I guess I'd had the album for three years at that point (which is why the song is not higher) and the song finally made sense to me.

9) Electioneering
An epic battle waged in my mind between nine and eight and electioneering lost. When I first had the cd after a couple weeks I would skip to this song first (I think I'd probably listened to Paranoid Android 100 times) because it rocked out and I didn't have too many albums that rocked out, my cd purchasing still being strictly monitored. Like Nick I had my first pseudo-literary critique moment with the "When I go forwards, you go backwards" line and I was also in love with end and how they made you think the song was over until Selway came roaring back on the drums. Electioneering lost because in battle someone must lose.

8) Lucky
"It's going to be a glorious day" -- this line is why Lucky won. Not only because it's an uplifting line on an album where must of the lyrics are anything but, but also because in one line Thom Yorke goes from a bare whisper to soaring operatic sounds and your chest simply seizes up and you get that slight tingle at the tips of your fingers because you want to create something. Or maybe that's just my experience with the line.

7) Airbag
I love this song. I really do. The opening guitar line is the perfect introduction to and album that (if listened to properly) will change you life (at least musically speaking). The strings that accompany the opening guitar line immediately transport you to another place, another planet, another universe that Thom Yorke is going to save. And then come the drums and you don't really know what to say or think and you've forgotten how to breathe. I love this song. I really do, and I hope it's not insulted that I put it at seven. This is what happens when you make lists.

6) No Surprises
I think this song subconsciously planted the seed for my fear of commitment and domesticity (so old girlfriends, blame the song not me). At the time I loved the fact that my mom thought this song was "so pretty" but she wasn't paying attention to the brilliantly sarcastic lyrics about bringing down the government and landfills. This song allowed you to work yourself into a torrent of teenage angst and smile. "Such a pretty house and such a pretty garden"

5) Exit Music for a Film
I like this song immediately, it didn't have to grow on me. Once the drowning voices-synth-type-keyboards kicked in I was sold. And Thom Yorke, who's voice had just reached a power and anger most singers lose sleep over, allows his voice to crack and sound almost weak. This song makes me want to be in love with someone enough to steal her away in the night and tell her that we are the same person (so future girlfriends, thank the song not me).

4) Let Down
At first this song frustrated me, I liked it but it frustrated. I'd just started playing the guitar and I wanted to play everything I heard though my actual ability to do so was quite deficient. And I couldn't pick out a single guitar line that I would like to play because one second one melody sounds amazing but it's immediately usurped by the guitar line that was lurking beneath and then you realize there's an acoustic guitar churning at the very bottom that would be nothing without the warring melodies at the top. But then with an almost ultimate sorrow you realize that warring melodies at the top would be nothing without the churning acoustic guitar at the bottom. And you are lost and confused and frustrated and then you just give it up and realize you will never ever play this song and the song, like a benevolent father, tells you that's okay. And then you just listen to the song and you're not quite sure how to feel so you just exist.

3) Paranoid Android
Like Nick Paranoid Android was the reason I bought the album. I can thank this song for changing the course of my musical life, for my first seeds of rebellion, for the way I see morning sunlight differently (I won't got into that because I believe I would fail to accurately explain that statement--just suffice it to say it involves a tractor and mowing in early morning hours). At one point I could play a pretty good rendition of this song on the guitar, it took my awhile but I finally got it down--I'm not sure if I could play it now because i gave up on playing it with a band because I would never myself be able to or find some able to sing this song. Cut this song apart and every part makes a great song, put them together and they're perfect.

2) Karma Police
This is Radiohead's best song. I have no argument that it's not and in the next paragraph I won't put forth a logical argument for why it's not number one because no logical argument exists is should be number one, but on my list it is not. And I have to admit that this song would have been lower had I not roomed with Nick and he had not taught me how to play and we had not played it together our entire college careers. All either one of us had to do was hit that first A minor and though countless songs begin with that chord I do believe that Radiohead now owns it and will forever own it and thus I will never be able to write a song that begins with that chord. Plus the memory of Mandy and Beth crying when Nick and I played the last time will be forever imprinted on my memory.

1) Climbing Up The Walls
Nick knows me well, I'm not sure he thought I would have dared to place this song at the top of my list but I have and I will do my best to justify myself. I discovered this song and since it was never released as a single I still claim it as my own. And I was happy, though slightly jealous, to find that members of Cokemachineglow claimed the song as their favorite. This song suffocates you, it makes you think the entire world is ever so slowly inching towards a center that is not yourself and that you will simply be swept along, slowly mind you, to that horrible center. This song creates a faceless horror, a terrible queen in a tower that marches her killing army to the beat of Selway's hollowed out snare drum. This song does not create fear it simply reveals it. It does this for precisely four minutes and two seconds (4:02) and then Thom Yorke screams. His scream is both ugly and beautiful, both terrifying and comforting and absolutely human and it fights backs again all the fear that song has built to that point. After he screams the menacing string sections stops, as do the drums and the guitar part and all you are left with is the instruments, the revealers of evil, petering out, dying away defeated by a scream, by a sound that is pure human. That's why the song is at the top of my list.

Get me off the plane...

2005-11-23T05:15:00.000-08:00

"God has laid his hands on two nations in the entire history of the world," the man across the isle on the plane said to me. "Israel and America, I've seen it."

Had this been the first thing this man, Chuck, had said to me I might have emitted an involuntary laugh, or at least a grunt. But many of his prior comments had produced a near-visceral reaction in me. Chuck was a cajun from Louisiana, and for those of you not from the South, Cajuns or Cah-joons maybe the meanest most backwater people you'd ever met. And who can blame them? They live in the part of Louisiana that's not New Orleans, basically trailer parks, swamps and disease infested bugs.

The conversation had started out normal enough.

"When was the last time you flew?" Chuck asked me.

"Two days ago, I'm on my way back now," I said. I was returning from mi abuelita's funeral, but I didn't elaborate we were in a small space...

"The last time I flew was ten years ago," Chuck continued, I'm not really sure if he heard my answer. I said something to the effect of "way to get back on the horse" but I don't think he heard this either.

"My job used to fly me all over," Chuck said. "First for the state of Louisiana and then the federal government picked me up. You're probably too young for the Iran-Contra affair?"

Well, yes I am too young for the Iran-Contra affair (it happened in 1985, born 1983, sorry to say at that age I was apathetic), though I knew the bare bones of the event. We, the United States, sold weapons to Iran (with whom our relationships were worse then they are now) to convince them to help in the release of hostages in Lebanon. Iran was also in the midst of a war with Iraq--it will be interesting to see how many times Iraq comes up in future history books, I'm going to guess once. Anyways, with the proceeds from the sales of the weapons to Iran we funded the uprising of anti-communists "Contras" in Nicaragua who were fighting the established "Sandista" government. Which of course was entirely illegal due to an amendment passed in 1983. But of course Reagan was very secretive about it, basically acting like he could do whatever he wanted in foreign policy and not have to tell Congress too much about it.

"Reagan was a great man," Chuck said. "Everybody's always saying Reagan this, Reagan that, he was a great man."

At this point I really needed to get off the plane--as if they pilot had read my mind he came on the loudspeaker and said "We'll be landing in about 45 minutes folks." Damn.

"I was in Nicaragua training those people," Chuck said. "Me and other marines, teaching them how to kick those communist's asses." Why do these people always talk to me?

"I was also in Afghanistan teaching those Arabs how to shoot down those Russian migs with surface to air missles." Chuck said. "Those were tough times son, people don't realize how dire the situation was because they weren't over there."

You mean over there fighting Russia during the cold war through Afghanistan so we didn't have to declare outright war on them? (My history in fact is a little hazy surrounding this event, but I think that's it in a sentence). I didn't ask this of course, I think I said "yeah true" or something...I really, really wanted to get off the plane.

Some other things were said all along the same lines so I won't bore you with them (and this blog is getting much too long) but I really thought I was going to have to get out of my seat and head for the bathroom after one comment.

"American's just better be happy a Texan was running the show after September 11," Chuck said. "Had it been a cajun like me I wouldn't have hesitated. They have nuclear bombs the size of footballs that you can bore down into the earth seven stories, they know he was down there in Iraq just drop that sucker in the whole and blow the whole place."

Throughout the whole conversation he'd been very specific about everything, which was the scariest part--someone actually knowing what they were doing and having these thoughts. Now he could have been shitting me, and I wanted this to be the case, I would have been much more comfortable had he been making all up--and he could have been, I'd watched him down three little airplane bottles of scotch, but I don't think so.

Chuck still had the inherent thinness of long time military/heavy duty police service, he had the Top Gun style mustasche and glancing at his hands they looked perpetually dirty and calloused. But what convinced me of his sincerity was his voice. Throughout the whole conversation, basically against my will, I'd had to strain my ears to understand him because his voice was so low. He wasn't trying to keep his voice down, I think his voice was always down. His voice sounded hollow and almost weak, despite the fact that he was an imposing figure--it was like all the things he had seen had beaten the vigor out of his voice.

I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to say that was the worst thing I'd ever heard, blowing up an entire city with a nuclear bomb?! I know I've read more newspaper articles and history essays concerning all the events he'd mentioned the conversation. But the problem was he didn't have to have read anything, he was freaking there. I felt like I had no grounds on which to contradict him, he had combat boots older than me and I've never been in a real fight. I began to wonder why it was he hadn't flown in ten years--something must have happened, the same thing that softened his voice to barely above a whisper.

Instead of arguing I tried to change the subject, mentioning that after we landed in Atlanta I was on my way to Philadelphia.

"Philadelphia! Gosh I love it up there," Chuck said. "I was up there once in January at this all night diner, this was about four years ago I guess, and it started to snow. Now down in Louisiana as you know, we don't get snow, so I ran out of the diner into the snow. There I was jumping around with my tongue stuck out...snow is just beautiful isn't it?"

Yes Chuck, snow is quite beautiful.

The Shower scene

2005-11-09T15:49:00.000-08:00

Warning: Most girls, after reading this blog, will probably crinkle their noses and ask yourself "did I really need to know that?" For that matter most guys will probably scratch their heads and ask the same question.

For some reason I've started swimming again, the adrenaline rush from merely running had ceased to be completely fulfilling and to tell you the truth I really did miss swimming. Senior year at DePauw I wanted for nothing but the season to end, to not have to swim everyday at 6 a.m. and 4 p.m., to not constantly feel that pang of empty hunger in my stomach. But I the weather got colder and the leaves started to change color and it just seemed unnatural for me not to be swimming, for the past eight years I'd witnessed fall through chlorine-irritated eyes, I wanted to see it that same way.

Since I can not afford the membership for the nice, club pool on campus I must opt for the "other" pool in Hutchinson gymnasium. When they built Hutchinson, about eighty years ago (or so it seems), they somehow trapped the nighttime inside. Outside the sun beats down upon the tennis players just outside the building, but inside it always feels like the small hours of the morning, things are old and move slow, the light makes the doors look tired. Not the greatest swimming atmosphere but I'm accepting the reality of poor (almost) grad student.

I'm probably the youngest person by at least (and I'm being generous) fifteen years that swims at hutchinson. It's mostly very elderly people that have such a hard time in the water that I find myself slowing down just so I don't pass them quite so quickly. And they are all naked, almost all of the time. Not in the pool of course, but once you walk into the locker room it's a veritably cornucopia of stretched and hanging skin.

Even though I'm a swimmer and have spent a good portion of my time more than half naked I am uncomfortable with my own nudity, especially my own. Those of you who have lived with me probably know that in Austin's perfect world shorts and sandals would suffice for everyone at all times, but when it comes to the full monty I'm a no go. I think perhaps it's a consequence of swimming -- we always showered with our speedos on, not taking them off until we had the towel wrapped around our waist. Whenever the basketball players would climb walk into the shower area full frontal the comment often was "why take a good thing and make it naked?"

But now, at Hutchinson, instead of being surrounded by other swimmers still wearing their swimsuits in the shower I was the only one not completely naked. Well today it all changed.

During most swim practices the only way I got through was knowing that immediately afterwards I would be able to shower, to have hot water run over me and relax my over used muscles. Now that I'm swimming on my own I make myself swim just hard enough to try and recreate that sensation of utter relief in the shower. Today I really went after it, doing sprints in all the different strokes, hitting my legs hard, swimming until my arms truly ached -- the shower was going to be great.

One problem: today the speedo seemed to be particularly tight on my...um...package. This will happen sometimes, your speedo and drag suit just decide they are going to be painful and so they are, as I walked to the shower i seemed acutely aware of the pain. I stood under the hot water, my eyes closed, and the water running over my face, and I was flipping uncomfortable.

The four other people showering were completely naked, and I thought to myself "I can just take off my suits and it'll be fine, just think your taking a private shower at home." I didn't completely convince myself at first, "I can just deal with it" i thought. But the pain was taking away from the joy of the shower, and thus eventually the argument to remove my suits won over.

I still resisted at first, but then off they came. There I was, completely, utterly stark naked in public for the first time since I was a baby. At first is was amazing because the pain was gone, but then I felt invisible eyes bearing down on me. I looked around, but absolutely no one was looking my direction. I was imagining things. I tried to push the thought of someone watching my out of my head, but the feeling persisted.

It's fine, I can deal with this, I thought. I desperately wanted to enjoy this shower. But I wasn't, I was naked and I hated it, I couldn't do this, I need freaking curtains, a shower door, something. And if this wasn't enough I looked around again, assuring myself that no one was still looking, and my mind formed the equation that shower naked in public equals old age. Why did I draw such a conclusion? I don't know, but I did. Off went the shower, on came the towel and I nearly ran back to my locker to put on clothes.

Thinking back I realize that I was probably without my suits for a total of thirty seconds, but that was half a minute too long. Maybe one day I'll grow up and be okay with showering naked at the gym, but I'll have to conquer two fears first: the fear of nudity, and the fear of old age.

The later will probably overtake me before I overcome the fear.

My "Ivy League" Interview

2005-10-23T18:12:00.000-07:00

Ivy League Couple (Not an agency) seeks egg donor. UPenn of Ivy League student or graduate who is 21-32 years, healthy, athletic, very pretty, 5'7" - 5'10.5", outgoing, sense of humor is preferred. English, Irish, German, Scandinavian or Eastern European heritage preferred. Compensation $25k. NYC Ivy League couple.

The above advertisement is non-fiction, it exists in the black and white print of UPenn's student newspaper. The following interview is, of course, fiction, but it exists in the zeros and ones of the internet.

"Hi, yes, hello...I'm hear about the egg donation? Thank you I will take a seat...I'm very well and you? It's a pleasure to hear that."

"Well, currently I'm a grad-student-of-sorts at UPenn. Undergrad? DePauw. Yes the one with the L, yeah our basketball team is very good. But yes I am in a very rigorous program at Penn now - so, you know, I've got a lot going on upstairs."

"I know I may look like I'm not a day over 18 but I'm in fact 22, quickly approaching 23."

"Nope, never smoked before in my life, well maybe that one time (every other day) but you know I'm not a smoker, I've smoked but I'm not a smoker. And I swam in college! No we were division three...oh wait I mean, yes of course DePAUL is d 1. sorry momentary brain lapse. So yes very healthy."

"Well yes I've been told I'm quite pretty. I mean it was this construction worker with "dad" tatooed on his left forearm (and possibly two earrings?) but I'm sure that counts as a recommendation."

"Oh, I'm a riot don't get me started, I mean you don't even want to get me going because then I won't stop, that's how funny I am. I mean and I'm sure my funny genes are quite strong and will transfer quite easily."

"My ethnic background? Well I'm half Irish. The other half? I'm not really sure, it's not that important *cough*Mexican*cough* and let's be honest when it comes to donating which side do you think has that the room to donate? The Irish side, so you're safe."

"Wait, what was that? You sexists bastards! Well yes I am a male, but how do you know I don't have eggs to donate? You know it's fine. I didn't want to donate my eggs anyways."

St. Francis De Salles

2005-10-12T18:26:00.000-07:00

On the way to church the owner of Salt and Pepper Deli III was just opening his gates and two loiterers audibly breathed a sigh of relief: "Man. we've been waiting for you all morning."

I guess they needed alcohol at 10 a.m. on a Sunday. Normally I would have been amused, but I'd woken in a funk that particular morning. It was one of those mornings where you roll out of bed and things just seem off, a sort of heaviness you can't shake with music or coffee or a big breakfast...and no this was not a hungover heaviness, though it was close.

Things haven't been particularly bad or good, and in general I've been in a constant state of semi-cheer, but I felt somewhat ungrounded so I made it a priority to go to church. It's been hard for me to find a church up here because it's either Catholic or Jewish. I'm not Catholic and only death will remove me from breakfast sausage. But I didn't feel like searching so I just trudged down to the large and beautiful Catholic Church a few blocks north.

Upon entrance my nostrils were inflamed by the pungent incense hanging in the air, I'd never been to a service with incense before. I took my prayer book and announcement sheet and sat down on the back pew, just in case I decided to leave early, which I was banking on.

The choir started singing on the level above and actually sounded quite nice but I hardly noticed, engrossed in a letter in the Bulletin from the regional bishop. In the letter he apologized for the "sexual misconduct" of several priest in the greater Philadelphia and specifically to the "young victims." The events apparently took place in the real world, not some cliche movie, and just last month.

We began to pray the ritual prayers, "May the Lord be with you" "And also with you." Scripture were read and hymns sung and the gospel revered. But all I could notice was that there appeared to be black pews and white pews. Of course there were exceptions, but they it seemed these were couples, which somewhat cheered my heart. Also there seemed to be segregation in terms of affluence--which is not really high in this area anyways, but those in real dress clothes were not really sitting with those whose "Sunday's best" was a bit tattered. For my part I had three young black men on my right and halfway through the priests "sermon" a black women with her three teenage kids scooted the four of us over.

The priest discussed the scripture which had talked of feasts and related it to the the eucharists and the words of the Pope. The words of the pope--I remembered why I had never dipped my feet in the Catholic waters. I also wondered what sort of ears this talk of feasting fell upon, I've been eating pretty well myself, but I'd recently read an article in the Philadelphia Weekly about how those in poverty (many in my areas, well okay a couple blocks further west of me) couldn't afford groceries and weren't really eating. And here was the priest referring to the wafer and sip of wine as a feast. I knew the spiritual and religious significance of the Lords' Supper, but in terms of sustenance it is not anything.

I guess it was just my mood, but I was becoming increasingly more enraged with the letter in the bulletin, the apparent segregation and this talk of feasting and the words of the Pope. Why the hell do I care what the Pope should say? I thought. Then I thought I probably shouldn't be thinking about Hell in church, and became depressed by how far I'd fallen spiritually and the fact that I'd given up on searching this morning and ended up in this Catholic church from which now, thanks to the lady and her kids, I couldn't quietly leave.

And as is the nature with bad thoughts they began to breed. I thought about my recent doubt in my chosen academic life path, wondering whether I was cut out, and really desired, to be a professor, a pursuer of knowledge, an avid researcher, a shaper of minds, and wholly sedentary being. But without Greek and Latin, what do I do? Visions of dust collecting on my expensive and expansive Oxford Latin Dictionary and Greek-English Lexicon made me shudder.

Then I cursed myself for having such shallow, self-pitying thoughts when I had just moments earlier been pondering how people weren't eating. Then I cursed myself for cursing in church and then I just gave up, or tried to give up but the thoughts just came back.

The problem of money. The mice in our kitchen. The substantial leak in our roof. The constant presence of alcoholics and beggars and lunatics in our neighborhood. The strain of my classes. The strain of my job. The fact that I worked entire days, never leaving the apartment, and I still never completely finished the work for either one. Me. My problems, Myself.

My self pity and the anger at my self pity overwhelmed me and I started to cry...

Okay, that's a lie. They started to water due to the incense and the fact the the lady's perfume to my left was beyond unbearable. The first thing I thought was it must be Britney's new fragrance. Also I had a heavy feeling in my stomach, which most likely I could also thank the incense for, which was making me quite uncomfortable. Do the Catholics do this on purpose?

We began the liturgy for the eucharist, for the "feast."

I closed my eyes, for a couple of reasons of course and really prayed, I mean I really tried to pray. I didn't want to feel sorry for myself, I didn't want to be angry at things. I didn't... eye. ai. I.

At one point the woman on my left and the young guy on my right both grabbed one of my hands, lifting them higher and higher as the prayer progressed. I opened my eyes to see if everyone in the church was doing the same.

Nope. It was just my pew. Just the nine of us standing there with our hands clasped and in the air. My hands were now just above my shoulders, though not above anyone else's shoulders, but what should a hobbit expect?

My eyes were open and they weren't watering. I visibly smiled.

Everything was fine. Everything was beautiful.

King Arthur, Part 4

2005-10-05T12:53:00.000-07:00

...in the moments before sleep innumerable anxieties, worries and joys flood my mind: loans, doing whatever, greek conjugation, latin word order, my ankles...Cathy Bates....

Returning home from the local coffee shop, The Green Line, I wanted a cigarette. I cursed myself for not packing them in my bookbag before heading to the coffee shop--the walk back in the cool night air always suited a little internal flame. And lo and behold his majesty alighted from the steps.

"Hey buddy, you got a smoke."

"No man, I wish I did."

I didn't really pause, and became immediately frightened I had offended him by not supplying my curt bow. Suddenly I had a brain lapse:

"I could go get some though."

The words just came out, I had just offered to bring cigarettes back to the local loon.

"Only if you're coming back this way bro."

Two lines of completely understandable statements, in fact lately he's said completely comprehensible things in my direction. Which has been sort of a let down I must tell you, but since he seemed in a normal mood I figured it was safe enough to retrieve my cigarettes for him. As I trudged up the stairs I weighed my options. By taking back cigarettes and striking up a conversation I could completely destroy the idea of King Arthur, but on the other hand having a cigarette with him would be excellent blog fodder (as you can see). So I set some rules for myself:

1) under no circumstances shall I ask his name.
2) try and be cryptic myself,
3) make the encounter as brief as possible.

With these rules I set forth. As I walked up to his highness with the desired items he scooted over on the steps (me! sitting next to king arthur).

"You're not from around here, buddy, no one around here would have come back here to give me a cigarette," he said.

Normal! this is not blog material I thought I as I sat down next to him, lighting our cigarettes. Where are the melted bugs? Where are the alien signals? The plans to execute every single person on earth?

"No I'm from Kentucky."

"Are you out here for school?"

"Yes" -- I muttered this, shattered that the conversation was taking such a normal direction. I concentrated on my smoke and threw out a question I ask every new person I meet out here.

"So what do you do?"

"Man, all these people's are forms and aliens man, I'm just the local talking frog," he said, gazing up at the dim stars, chuckling. "You know, someone's got to tell them what to do."

Absolute bliss! I new you would not disappoint my king.

"I think my next step is to paint the roads black, though they're already black, you know for the firestone and such."

I had no idea what he said, I loved it. "Sounds like a good idea. They painted that wall over there recently."

"Yeah they had to cover up the government symbol above the disposal for war purposes, I can't wait to hear the explanation for that, I just can't wait," he said. "All the explaining I'll have to to."

I smiled quietly to myself, taking another puff and trying to adhere to rule number 3.

"Kentucky uh? Now all we need on the block is a Texan with big horns on the front of his cadillac," He said, suddenly returning to normalcy.

"I was born in Texas actually, but I drive a buick," I replied. "Maybe I could put horns on that."

"Yeah man, and cover it in astroturf and put a taxi sign on it that says I'm not a retard," he added.

At that point Duncan was walking back from class, I hailed him and said my goodbye's to King Arthur.

Where else is there to go from here? What other fodder will really arise? These days he always gives me a thumbs up when I jog past and scolds me when he sees me with a cigarette (though he never fails to bum one). Cryptic verses still pour from his lips and about half the time they make sense. How long will the novelty last? Will it ever wear off?

Nick said: "Austin someday we'll find you stabbed in the back on the street and we'll know it was King Arthur."

If I could only be so lucky...

(just let me post before i gasp my last)

The trolley station

2005-10-02T17:04:00.000-07:00

I sat on a bench, twin grocery bags at my feet, and I was completely alone. There had been a handful of people on the trolley platform not two minutes ago, but the trolley had arrived and they'd all boarded. It's hadn't been my line, #13, so I was left alone on my side of the tracks, and the opposite stood completely still.

I'd just come from New York City, the City, where you are never completely alone, even late nights in the subway station the whisper of some couples conversation tickles your ears or the faint cry of a baby up past her bedtime softens your heart. The checkout girl at the store had asked me to detail the best part of my weekend...a strange question I thought coming from a checkout girl, but this was trader joe's.

"Well I just got back from New York City for the first time," I said will a huge grin.

She looked shocked, "Are you not from Philadelphia?"

"Well, no, I'm from Kentucky," I admitted (when Cameron Crowe's new movie comes out I'll be more specific and proclaim I'm from ELizabethtown and proffer my driver's license when people gasp)

She gave me a weird look, apparently she was the breed of Northeasterners that had not been further west than Ohio, but then assented that it was "cool" that I was from Kentucky. I then, out of politeness, not genuine interest, I asked her the highlight of her weekend.

"Well I was able to work through some really emotionally and heavy stuff with someone I really care about this weekend."

And that was my cue to take my groceries and make a run for it...

It was weird saying that I was not from Philadelphia, because I'd been saying it all weekend while in New York. When I stepped off the bus in Chinatown I did in fact feel at home, taking a depth breath and reveling in the familiarity of my surroundings. New York is a better city: it's cleaner, there's more to do, it's bigger, it metropolitan, it has actual subways. I had an amazing time with everyone, blissfully watching my money disappear ("how much did you say for the drinks?...here just take my wallet, I don't need it anymore...you'll have to contact King Arthur for my soul."). I ate a wonderful Gyro, empanada's, hot dogs, and wolfed down my fare share of New York style pizza.

But though New York has much more to offer I enjoyed being back in Philly: a thought that really struck me as I sat alone in the trolley station in near complete silence. On the bus ride back I'd read a good portion of "Lolita" and felt my blood churn when I didn't want to, especially since I sat next to a larger gentleman yelling into his cell phone in chinese the entire trip. And sitting there I still felt the adrenaline coursing through my veins, contemplating all the "dirty" thoughts I'd had personally, and of course all the "dirty" things I'd done in the past.

Montaigne writes: "I have moreover bidden myself to dare to write whatever I dare to do: I am loathe even to have thoughts which I cannot publish."

I know I lack the courage of Montaigne: I shudder at publishing half the things I think, especially the thoughts and memories I recalled while reading "Lolita." But I considered the freedom, the near abandon, of knowing that I would let the world now of every deed and every thought. How liberating it would be to have nothing to hide, to have everything known--maybe perhaps people would know the true you, if in fact a 'true you" exists...something I must admit I doubt.

I mulled all of this over and over again in my head in the singular space I'd been blessed with, at once faced with this feeling of sinking and this feeling of freedom.

Then my trolley came, and I took my seat: I had two overflowing bags of groceries, my huge orange backpack and I smelled...and I felt at home. The only thought I had was how long I would need to clarify that I'm from Kentucky.

King Arthur, Part 3

2005-09-28T07:36:00.000-07:00

I must begin this post with an admission: I smoke. Now, we can debate whether or not I'm a smoker because it takes me weeks to finish of a pack--very rarely do I have more than one cigarette a day, if that. But to side step this debate I'll simply say, I smoke.

I usually smoke in the dark, either on our "back porch" or on the walk home from the coffee shop. On these return trips form the coffee shop I usually happen upon his royal highness, who more often than not is smoking himself. For awhile he simply gave me a confused look and then said something like "the tax rates climb like trees among craggy cliffs to the death of all the frogs."

But then one night as I passed he asked, "Do you have rolling papers, buddy?"

"No...sorry," I barely got out. A real question? Something to which I could actually answer, I must of looked pale and confused. It's like when you spend a certain amount of time in a foreign country where they don't speak english, like mexico. You don't really know the language but you pick up on the simply phrases like "Where is the bathroom?" and "How is the chicken at this establishment?" And one morning as you're walking around searching for an outdoor cafe someone asks you your name and how you are doing and you hear it as though it hit your ears in english. For a brief, very brief moment, you are a native speaker.

Is this what happened here? Have a been here long enough to have King Arthur's ramblings hit my ear as understandable dialogue? And he called me buddy? Buddy?

The next day as I headed towards the coffee shop, still reeling from the previous day's encounter, Harry asked me for a cigarette. I call him Harry because that's what he looks, he's one of the local drunk/homeless people on the block. I readily give out cigarettes because I figure it's one less cancer stick that I'll inhale. As I was forking over the requested cigarette I heard:

"Hey buddy, let me get one of those too."

It was his majesty, asking for one of my cigarettes. I quickly, and speechlessly handed one over. Then his highness said to Harry:

"I can't figure this kid out man, he runs by in the morning and then at night he walks by me with a cigarette. You can't have it both ways my young friend."

He was right, I probably can't.

"Ah, let him do what he wants," Harry responded. "You do want you want friend."

"Don't listen to him, he's an alien," King Arthur said. Coming from any other person I would have chuckled at the sarcasm, but the conviction with which he said it made me realize he was serious--Harry was an alien.

So Arthur has taken note of my daily activities. Perhaps I am a loyal subject in King Arthur's court?

Pieces of Conversation

2005-09-25T16:34:00.000-07:00

"What she said" / (My inner monologue) / What Proust wrote

"...I'd really expected you to stay longer the other night, but, you know, you just kind of left..."

(You have to realize this was the first time I'd seen you outside of class...ever. And everyone else was leaving, Duncan wanted to leave, I don't quite understand this comment of wanting me to stay longer)

"...well if your interested we should get lunch together tomorrow before class...just meet me out in front of fresh grocer at noon?"

(Well since you gave me time to respond before you planned then of course)

But Swann said to himself that if he showed Odette (by agreeing only to meet her after dinner) that there were other pleasures he preferred to the pleasure of being with her, a long time would pass before her appetite for him was surfeited.

"...well I'm glad Duncan thought I was all right, though he's not that one I'm worried about liking me..."

(Your as subtle as a brick. I'm not quite sure I know how to handle this, I mean on one end I like the forwardness, it's refreshing. On the other there is absolutely no intrigue, I'm not having to try hard at all)

An hour later he received a note from Odette and immediately recognized the large handwriting...Swann had forgotten his cigarette case at Odette's. "If you had forgotten your heart here too, I would not have let you have it back."

"...I'm sorry but I really don't feel good right now so I don't really want to go to the movie. It's just that I ate all of this greasy food last night and I'm not used to it..."

(Well at least you're not washing your hair or something. I wonder why I feel some strange sense of loss because I really wanted to stay in myself and she had asked me to go to the movies...)

When he saw that she was no longer in the drawing room, Swann felt a pain in his heart; he trembled at being deprived of a pleasure that he was now measuring for the first time, having had until then that certainty of finding it when he wanted it which in the case of all pleasures diminishes for us, or even prevents us from perceiving at all, their greatness.

"...Well to make up for last night how about we go to the movie tonight and I'll pick up some rum or something so that after the movie we can go back to my place and drink and do whatever for however long..."

(I think I misheard you "do whatever for however long" - is that a proposition? Do girls like you actually exist? I mean I've come to grips with the fact that you are in fact forward but this sort of takes the triple-layered dark chocolate cake with espresso icing.)

"Now don't talk to me, just answer with a sign so you don't get even more out of breath. It won't bother you, will it, if I straighten the flowers in your bodice? They were knocked out of place when the carriage lurched. I'm afraid you may lose them, I'll push them in a little."
She was not sued to seeing a man make such a fuss over her, and said, smiling:
"No, not at all. I don't ming in the least."

------------------------------------

By making comparison to "Swann in Love" I feel like I'm already condemning this relationship at the start...is it because I read Swann's Way that I feel this at all or is it because Proust tapped into something universal?

...we have a problem

2005-09-22T14:05:00.000-07:00

Water is crucial to many key areas of commerce. Access to a coast, or a bay or a decent stretch of river throws the door wide open in terms of economic activity. Couple water access with flat land where buildings upon buildings can be constructed and you my friends have a great American city.

New Orleans was built in a prime position between two very useful bodies of water and soon became a thriving commerce...to bad people didn't realize that the ground they'd built on was simply the silt carried by the Mississippe river--dam up the river, stop the silt, say goodbye to your "ground."

The area that was to become Houston was much fought over during the Texas revolution because of choice piece of the Gulf Coast it occupied. Now the port of Houston is one of the biggest in the world and is second only to New York City in terms of Fortune 500 companies.

Of course the problem is you can't control water. As beneficial as it is to commerce and the like it always remains a force to be reckoned with, a force that is ultimately untamable. Nevertheless for generations people have flocked to port cities because they guaranteed jobs and shops and restaurants and bars. People immigrated from many different countries (including Mexico) to these port cities looking for a new life.

A couple of weeks ago I watched and read the news regarding Katrina with a distinct feeling of detachment. I knew it was actually going on, but in Philadelphia the only effect I even remotely felt was a spike in gas prices. I read the stories about how many of the people in the poorer areas of mississippi didn't leave because they couldn't afford a tank of gas--and for that reason they were now dead. I read, I watched, it didn't seem real, it didn't happen to me.

My Aunt and my cousin spent almost twenty hours on I-59 before they turned back to their home in Houston. They were about to run out of gas and couldn't afford to get more and in twenty hours they hadn't even traveled north of the airport.

My grandmother, 78, who we recently put in a nursing home, was evacuated to Dallas on a bus. She was nervous and didn't want to get on the bus, she didn't know what was going on or where they were taking her. The doctors reported that she had a "spell" as they were boarding. Her bus has not gotten to Dallas because the traffic is too backed up, they are currently trying to find a red cross shelter that may or may not be far enough north.

In The Garden of Forking Paths Jorge Luis Borges writes: "Then I reflected that all things happen to oneself, and happen precisely, precisely now. Century follows century, yet events occur only in the present; countless men in the air, on the land and sea, yet everything that truly happens, happens to me."

King Arthur, part 2

2005-09-20T10:01:00.000-07:00

...it's been a hell of a day. I won't go into specifics but it's one of those days when I'd like to see blood, and I'd like the blood to be on my hands so I'd have the supreme satisfaction of knowing I caused the spillage...so what do I do to curb this paralyzing and disturbing anger? I write...

I've been pretty good about getting up to workout in the mornings. Most of my day is spent on my ass either slaving over Latin and Greek or writing the latest update for the Demand Generation Business Intelligence campaign. The only way I can sit around all day, and build up my 'sits-flesh' as one professor terms it, is if I do something athletic in the mornings.

So every day around 6:45 I awake and either run to center city or to the university gym, and almost every morning I run past King Arthur. You see, he's an early riser mainly so he can smoke and yell bits of nonsense at the people that pass by. I've pointed him out to my friends and such and he usually doesn't fail to disappoint.

"I'm going to melt all the bugs in the world and feed it to all the aliens like candy from a spicit." -- just one of the many things I've heard him yell.

He usually acknowledges me with a nod or a wry smile as I run past in the mornings, but he does not usually address me directly. However on the return run one morning I came across two sweet old ladies doing the Lord's work for their church. They were handing out pamplets that would lead me to the Bible and help me to "understand God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost." I usually humor these people and give them my best smile and a polite "thank you."

It just so happens that at the same time the stopped me they had also approached King Arthur. While one lady discussed salvation with me the other tried to offer a pamphlet to his majesty.

"So what are the kind of interest rates on this sort of thing?" he asked. "I must have some sort of explanation to take back, you know when I report."

"Do you want a pamphlet?" the sweet old lady asked, obviously confused

"Listen if you can't give a solid morgate rate and a wheel by which to crank through the obvious paper and ink and strategy of kings than I accept nothing given the current time frame affairs explanation."

"Here, just take this," she said, frustration and annoyance leaking out of her mouth.

I'd finished my conversation with the second evangelist and was now continuing my walk back to my apartment, finding the current situation quite humorous. Arthur had brushed aside the pamphet the Lord's worker had tried to hand him and turned to address me.

"See what I'm thinking man is I tap into this fragulent fallacy through the interest and mortage rates, bring it all down here amongst the aliens," He said, and then added with a wide smile: "Because once I do that I'll actually be able to execute everyone on Earth."

I think maybe I've been in the neighborhood too long because I almost extracted some sense from his tirade. I don't profess to know exactly what he was talking about but if someone tapped into the power of God, whether it be through interest rates or what have you, I imagine they could actually execute everyone on earth...

And just in case you're wondering I'm not going to delve into a deep discussion of evangelism and it's apparent evils...though I could.

Two pieces of writing....

2005-09-18T17:37:00.000-07:00

"For you alone are able to bring tranquil peace
to mortals,
Because Mars, brutal lord of war,
often lets his body sink into your bosom,
conquered by passion's eternal wound,
suspending his duty in a soft repose as he gapes
with love at your visage, Venus,
hanging on every breath from your mouth.
Here now, goddess, pour your holy form
about his supine meekness,
petitioning with sweet words for the placid,
and famed, pace Romani."

--Lucretius, De Rerum Natura, lines 1.31-40 (my own translation)

The Mid-Tier Millionaire Paradox

The millionaire next door, those HNWI’s with assets between $1 million and $5 million, usually only need a dedicated financial services provider to effectively manage all of their wealth. The Ultra-High Net-Worth Individuals, those with assets upwards of $30 million, establish a family office where financial, legal and accounting experts work under one roof to protect and manage the family’s assets.
The Mid-tier millionaire cannot dish out the overhead to support such a service, but they still want the same quality provided by a family office. “Their needs are for a complicated service delivery model but no one currently provides the service,” Dolby said.
The recent evolution in the behavior of the mid-tier millionaire also increases the complications of the paradox.
“Our research showed the MTMs were significantly impacted by the economic downturn,” Dolby noted. “Due to this impact from the downturn they have adopted a more hands on approach.”
Mid-tier millionaires have investments and interests all over the place. Many find themselves tangled up in foreign stocks or the challenge of transferring their wealth to the next generation. And though a high percentage of MTMs polled expressed an interest in working with one primary advisor and reducing their financial firm relationships many MTMs work with as many as three advisors. They want simplification but spread out because they worry one primary advisor can not handle their special and diverse needs.

--from a white paper I wrote today concerning Wealth Management strategies.

I write the above and then gaze hungrily in the almost empty refrigerator.

King Arthur, part 1

2005-09-17T16:27:00.000-07:00

I met King Arthur when I was still getting everything settled with my new apartment. Whil walking towards my building I noticed a guy, probably mid- to late-twenties sitting on the steps outside of hiw complex smoking. He had close-cropped hair, a goatee, and tattoos of barbed-wire circling his ankles. I should also mention he was white, whereas my neighbourhood is predominantely black.

He seemed to be minding his own business until I walked up and made eye contact with him. I'm told that in a big city you shouldn't make eye contact with people on the street because they treat this as a kinf of entry point to ask you for something--like a quarter. I've made a concerted effort to avoid eye contact but it just doesn't seem to be in my nature, I always make eye contact and thus always have to refuse to provide beer money. So anyways, I made eye contact with King Arthur and he began to speak to me, though it wasn't to ask for a quarter.

"So here I am born in New Jersey on the other side of the river in Camden and it just isn't fair because I come and set myself up over he with all the business and such. And it all goes to hell so I'm just sitting here waiting to see if the blue lights will create another catastrophe just right down their on the corner," he said in a thick jersey accent at a rather high volume. "And the blue light sky sweeps down and all sort of accidents always happen."

Here he paused but the whole time he had not taken his eyes away from me nor had he blinked. I wasn't sure if he had just posed a question to me and thus was at a loss as to whether I should respond. Even though I had no idea what to do I felt it would be rude to just walk away so I responded:

"I'm confused."

"So am I my friend, so am I," said King Arthur, pointing his cigarrette at me. "Because from where I'm sitting I see them erect a statue of Guinivere and then they take it back, steal it, put it some where and then all the sudden it's back, and you know what I say, I say just stone the bitch."

"Yeah, stone her, listen..."

"And so here they've spent 7 million dollars to keep me from King Arthur, ruler of Camelot, and they haven't done shit with it. I mean I've got to tell you I'm reallyconfused."

"Yeah me to..."

No part of the conversation had made any sense whatsoever. I've tried to accurately reproduce the dicates of King Arthur word for word but trust me my reproduction makes infinitely more sense than the actual speech. It's just that my mind can't function in the way I suppose his worked so I lack the proper faculties to catalogue such an address. But hopefully I've provided a slight insight into the character of King Arthur.

As you've probably guessed from the title my relationship with King Arthur has progressed and many interactions have taken place since then. But those are for subsequent parts.

Payphone conference calls

2005-09-16T14:43:00.000-07:00

So there I was on the corner of South 47th Street and Chester Avenue in West Philadelphia. For those of you more familiar with American history and specifically the history of Philadelphia you would know that West Philadelphia does not rank among the safest neighbourhoods in the United States. Nonetheless I now I call it home.

On this corner there is a discount market where you can buy a carton of eggs for 99 cents and a four-pack of toilet paper a buck ten. Just a little ways down you have the "Salt and Pepper Deli III" where not only can you purchase a huge sandwich but also any forty ounce beer of your choice, including pabst which might be one of the most glorious things ever.

Also on this corner, as I've already said, is me taking a conference call. I'm a writer for the business consulting firm Capgemini and once a week I have to take part in the weekly marketing call update. These calls usually last an hour and I usually don't say much but I have to listen in so I know what's going on with the marketing team. In my new apartment I don't have a land line, and I don't get free cell phone minutes until 9 p.m. Which would be a problem for a conference call that takes place at 4 p.m. except for the fact that it's an 800-number. Therefore it is completely free for me to use the payphone on the corner of South 47th Street and Chester Avenue for these weekly conference calls.

If you haven't already picture the crowd that might be hanging out at such an establishment as the "Salt and Pepper Deli III" (by the way I'm still on the look out for the I and II deli's) do so. If you can't form an accurate picture I'll describe the regulars. There are two brothers that lean on a broken down car the entire day asking each passer by for a quarter. Once they've accumulated enough quarters they buy a forty, drink it rather quickly and resume asking for quarters. There is the woman who buys her smirnoff at the deli and then sits on the steps across the street and yells at the other drunks. These yells are mostly unintelligible, but they are loud and they do consist of many, many obscenities.

Hopefully that gives you the basic picture of what goes down on my end of the conference call. On the other end of the conference call you often hear such comments as "If we dedicate another quarter-million to two new campaigns in Q4 and with those campaigns push at least three clients from 2B to 3A or even 3B we will be more than on track in our H2 pipeline and possibly get another quarter million at the start of oh six."

Now much like the exclamations of the drunk lady sitting across the street these comments are mostly unintelligible to me butI have to act interested and pay attention.

So on one end you have people asking for a quarter and on the other end you have people asking for a quarter-million. And in the middle you have me, a graduate student in Greek and Latin, a purely academic pursuit, who works for a six billion dollar international business and technology consulting firm.

In life and in conference calls I have a foot in both worlds.