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2.08.2009
1.19.2009
1.12.2009
It's better to receive, sometimes.
In the spirit of the Season that passed [per usual] more quickly than it should have, I thought I'd have a little chit chat about gift giving. Also because I received the greatest gift of my life last week.
Let's start here: I love giving gifts. Love. Giving. Gifts. And I generally feel like the receiver of my gifts typically appreciates them. [At the very least they're exceptional actors]. There's an art behind a great gift. Or maybe it's a science. Science hates me, so we'll go with art. Yes, an art. Here are some guidelines I have devised through the years [or in the last five minutes when I decided to to write this post.] We'll call it The Art of Gift Giving:
Make it personal. This is the hardest one. Because it usually means time. And actually knowing someone. Therefore, the greatest gifts are usually given by those who have slowly burrowed deeply into our bulletproof shells.
Make it unexpected. Gifts that blindside you with their out-of-left-field-ness are the best - when they fill a need you didn't know you had. I like to call it the IKEA Effect. Every time I go into IKEA and peruse and wind my way to the Marketplace area I will invariable chance upon some object that I did not know I needed. For instance, heart-shaped ice cube trays for $.99. Or a bathroom rug made out of recycled towels. Some may argue the practicality or necessity of such items. But at that moment I did need them - IKEA created a heart-shaped ice cube tray hole in my heart. It's the same way with an unexpected gift - it's something you couldn't possibly live without after you came to knowledge of its existence.
Just make it. If it's better to give than to receive, then it also follows that it's better to make than to purchase. Granted, you can't make every gift. Only the truly special ones. Concocting something out of thin air is at our human core - and thus, both the giver and receiver garner something out of the interaction. And those are the best kinds of interactions.
As for the greatest gift I've ever received - it was a month in the making by the girl whom I love. And it dominates each step in The Art of Gift Giving to a stupid degree. Not that she had that in mind when she made it - she was just being her usual flawless self.
She first purchased an ancient [ca. the year eighteen hundred fifty-six] arithmitic book for $5 from one of Austin's most peculiar perveyor of goods. She then resolved to scrawl over the pages of the [cumbursome title alert!] Key to Davies' Bourdon with Many Additional Examples, Illustrating the Algebraic Analyses with her own print, putting our story in ink, page by page. With song lyrics. And photos. And stirring words.
It brought me to the edge of tears. And continues to every time I thumb through the 100 pages she penned. The beautiful part is that there are yet hundreds of pages to be written. Hundreds.
Let's start here: I love giving gifts. Love. Giving. Gifts. And I generally feel like the receiver of my gifts typically appreciates them. [At the very least they're exceptional actors]. There's an art behind a great gift. Or maybe it's a science. Science hates me, so we'll go with art. Yes, an art. Here are some guidelines I have devised through the years [or in the last five minutes when I decided to to write this post.] We'll call it The Art of Gift Giving:
Make it personal. This is the hardest one. Because it usually means time. And actually knowing someone. Therefore, the greatest gifts are usually given by those who have slowly burrowed deeply into our bulletproof shells.
Make it unexpected. Gifts that blindside you with their out-of-left-field-ness are the best - when they fill a need you didn't know you had. I like to call it the IKEA Effect. Every time I go into IKEA and peruse and wind my way to the Marketplace area I will invariable chance upon some object that I did not know I needed. For instance, heart-shaped ice cube trays for $.99. Or a bathroom rug made out of recycled towels. Some may argue the practicality or necessity of such items. But at that moment I did need them - IKEA created a heart-shaped ice cube tray hole in my heart. It's the same way with an unexpected gift - it's something you couldn't possibly live without after you came to knowledge of its existence.
Just make it. If it's better to give than to receive, then it also follows that it's better to make than to purchase. Granted, you can't make every gift. Only the truly special ones. Concocting something out of thin air is at our human core - and thus, both the giver and receiver garner something out of the interaction. And those are the best kinds of interactions.
As for the greatest gift I've ever received - it was a month in the making by the girl whom I love. And it dominates each step in The Art of Gift Giving to a stupid degree. Not that she had that in mind when she made it - she was just being her usual flawless self.
She first purchased an ancient [ca. the year eighteen hundred fifty-six] arithmitic book for $5 from one of Austin's most peculiar perveyor of goods. She then resolved to scrawl over the pages of the [cumbursome title alert!] Key to Davies' Bourdon with Many Additional Examples, Illustrating the Algebraic Analyses with her own print, putting our story in ink, page by page. With song lyrics. And photos. And stirring words.
It brought me to the edge of tears. And continues to every time I thumb through the 100 pages she penned. The beautiful part is that there are yet hundreds of pages to be written. Hundreds.
1.08.2009
Favorite Albums of 2008
The year in music 2008 began in a crawl. Like a bear slow to leave the confines of its cave, music was biding its time until the frigid winter air stopped its biting. Maybe it was just my personal winter hangover from the end of 2007 – as musically rich a time as I ever experienced. Maybe I was just content with what I had. Maybe there simply wasn't just a ton of good music released the first couple months.
The moral of the story, then, is to wait. The rest of 2008 was a seemingly endless procession of exceptional albums, culminating with an early 2009 release by Animal Collective (a 9.6 by Pitchfork?!!!) that has the critics drooling and comparing it to to Pet Sounds and OK Computer.
These are my favorite albums. Meaning albums I bought and listened to. This isn't a comprehensive list of albums released in 2008 - no single man has the time or money for such an endeavor. Just my favorite. That's all.
Bon Iver takes the top spot simply because I listened to For Emma, Forever Ago more than any other album - and the fact that it's ceaslessly gorgeous, brief (only eight actual songs), and doesn't lose its momentum even a full year after its initial release. And it makes me cry. All the time.
So, without further ado, my favorite albums of 2008:
1. Bon Iver, For Emma, Forever Ago
2. Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes
3. Vampire Weekend, Vampire Weekend
4. Grand Archives, The Grand Archives
5. TV on the Radio, Dear Science
6. Sigur Ros, Með Suð Í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust
7. Coldplay, Viva La Vida
8. Jon Foreman, Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer EPs
9. MGMT, Oracular Spectacular
10. Gaslight Anthem, The '59 Sound
11. Glasvegas, Glasvegas
12. Hot Chip, Made in the Dark
13. Headlights, Some Racing, Some Stopping
14. Ra Ra Riot, The Rhumb Line
15.The Helio Sequence, Keep Your Eyes Ahead
16. The Killers, Day & Age
17. Frightened Rabbit, The Midnight Organ Fight
18. Electric President, Sleep Well
19. The Dodos, Visiter
20. Low vs Diamond, Low vs Diamond
*(21. Avett Brothers, The Second Gleam)
This is an EP, so it gets the asterisk and parentheses treatment.
The moral of the story, then, is to wait. The rest of 2008 was a seemingly endless procession of exceptional albums, culminating with an early 2009 release by Animal Collective (a 9.6 by Pitchfork?!!!) that has the critics drooling and comparing it to to Pet Sounds and OK Computer.
These are my favorite albums. Meaning albums I bought and listened to. This isn't a comprehensive list of albums released in 2008 - no single man has the time or money for such an endeavor. Just my favorite. That's all.
Bon Iver takes the top spot simply because I listened to For Emma, Forever Ago more than any other album - and the fact that it's ceaslessly gorgeous, brief (only eight actual songs), and doesn't lose its momentum even a full year after its initial release. And it makes me cry. All the time.
So, without further ado, my favorite albums of 2008:
1. Bon Iver, For Emma, Forever Ago
2. Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes
3. Vampire Weekend, Vampire Weekend
4. Grand Archives, The Grand Archives
5. TV on the Radio, Dear Science
6. Sigur Ros, Með Suð Í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust
7. Coldplay, Viva La Vida
8. Jon Foreman, Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer EPs
9. MGMT, Oracular Spectacular
10. Gaslight Anthem, The '59 Sound
11. Glasvegas, Glasvegas
12. Hot Chip, Made in the Dark
13. Headlights, Some Racing, Some Stopping
14. Ra Ra Riot, The Rhumb Line
15.The Helio Sequence, Keep Your Eyes Ahead
16. The Killers, Day & Age
17. Frightened Rabbit, The Midnight Organ Fight
18. Electric President, Sleep Well
19. The Dodos, Visiter
20. Low vs Diamond, Low vs Diamond
*(21. Avett Brothers, The Second Gleam)
This is an EP, so it gets the asterisk and parentheses treatment.
10.24.2008
Also, too, the great Ronald Reagan.
Most everyone keeps an inventory - in their brain or leather-bound journal or on their Stickies - of the things they want to do while still dwelling on planet Earth. My earliest such list was permanently recorded in my dear mother's brain when I was five, or thereabouts:
She asked me, "Stephen, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
I replied matter-of-factly, "I want to be a teenager - or a spy."
So that was my 5-year-old bucket list.
Things have changed since then (I have already accomplished half of my life's goals, as you may have already noted). Gradually, that list has morphed into something altogether different. I haven't written it down in some time - an exercise that is healthy for me because I tend to actually do things that I write down - but I assure you it has more than two items. It now has three or something.
I'm not going to write it down here, yet. Maybe someday. The purpose of this post was to report I am in the process of scratching out an item on my list - training for (and ultimately completing) a marathon. As I have embarked on my training regiment, the goal has become more specific - to finish in under three hours, thus qualifying me for Boston.
After a few weeks of training, things are looking up. Three toenails are dead. My knees are starting to ache. I like eating GU. I know what overpronate means.
Wish me luck.
Not sure anyone actually ever reads this part, but here's some good music:
Cardinology by Ryan Adams
Gossip in the Grain by Ray Lamontagne
"Late Night Partner" by Ed Harcourt
"True Love Ways" by Buddy Holly
Bodies and Minds by Great Lake Swimmers
She asked me, "Stephen, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
I replied matter-of-factly, "I want to be a teenager - or a spy."
So that was my 5-year-old bucket list.
Things have changed since then (I have already accomplished half of my life's goals, as you may have already noted). Gradually, that list has morphed into something altogether different. I haven't written it down in some time - an exercise that is healthy for me because I tend to actually do things that I write down - but I assure you it has more than two items. It now has three or something.
I'm not going to write it down here, yet. Maybe someday. The purpose of this post was to report I am in the process of scratching out an item on my list - training for (and ultimately completing) a marathon. As I have embarked on my training regiment, the goal has become more specific - to finish in under three hours, thus qualifying me for Boston.
After a few weeks of training, things are looking up. Three toenails are dead. My knees are starting to ache. I like eating GU. I know what overpronate means.
Wish me luck.
Not sure anyone actually ever reads this part, but here's some good music:
Cardinology by Ryan Adams
Gossip in the Grain by Ray Lamontagne
"Late Night Partner" by Ed Harcourt
"True Love Ways" by Buddy Holly
Bodies and Minds by Great Lake Swimmers
9.12.2008
Pea S. Lewis?
I'm presently tackling my first book of poetry. Now, I have always admired poetry - in the same way that I admired wine until I really gave it a shot. In other words I didn't admire poetry at all. I thought it pretentious and inaccessible. Maybe because I was too lazy to think or to look up obscure references to Greek gods. Maybe that makes me normal - I don't know.
Either way, I stumbled upon a collection of C.S. Lewis' poetry during a recent jaunt to Half Price Books - and it is slowly, methodically tearing down my presuppositions about poetry with astonishing passages like this from the poem entitled "On Being Human":
They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down to the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang - can angels measure it?
An angel has no nose.
Not sure just how air-tight the theology is here, but I do know those words resonate with my soul in a deep place. And I think that's what poetry is supposed to do. So, I am giving poetry a chance, just like my Mom told me to do with peas (typically those episodes ended in nausea while stealthily shoveling peas to the floor - so it's not quite a perfect metaphor).
And one music recommendation:
"Eve, the Apple of my Eye," by Bell X1.
Enjoy, lovers.
Either way, I stumbled upon a collection of C.S. Lewis' poetry during a recent jaunt to Half Price Books - and it is slowly, methodically tearing down my presuppositions about poetry with astonishing passages like this from the poem entitled "On Being Human":
They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it
Drink the whole summer down to the breast.
The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing
Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest.
The tremor on the rippled pool of memory
That from each smell in widening circles goes,
The pleasure and the pang - can angels measure it?
An angel has no nose.
Not sure just how air-tight the theology is here, but I do know those words resonate with my soul in a deep place. And I think that's what poetry is supposed to do. So, I am giving poetry a chance, just like my Mom told me to do with peas (typically those episodes ended in nausea while stealthily shoveling peas to the floor - so it's not quite a perfect metaphor).
And one music recommendation:
"Eve, the Apple of my Eye," by Bell X1.
Enjoy, lovers.
9.06.2008
Ever Afters and Toy Poodles or: Why Weddings are Badass
Hello, humans.
Sitting here at a Starbucks in heart of Dallas after witnessing the matrimony of a couple dazzling individuals. I am a huge fan of weddings for several reasons, which you will [might] now read about:
a) Weddings force you to contemplate weightier things - things like ever-afters, devotion, faith, true love, sincerity, trust. These things are important because they act as just that - weights that tether us to the ground. Without them we'd just kind of float away into the great blue unknown. They make things worthwhile. They're hard. And worthwhile = hard. Not necessarily in Webster's Thesaurus, but in Miller's, the lesser known younger cousin of D-Web (as those of us in the industry call him).
b) You will, without a doubt, run into someone you weren't expecting to see. And it will be refreshing because you haven't seen or even thought of this person in a year - and you will remember why you love this person. And then you won't see them for another year - at the next wedding of another friend. Sometimes weddings, I'm beginning to believe, are the only thing keeping this country together. Obama needs to change his campaign slogan from HOPE to WEDDINGS. It will confuse at first, but then one by one, everyone will understand and nod knowingly.
...and that paragraph went places I hoped I'd never go.
c) There are a lot of stunning females. Creepy, Steve.
d) You get to spend a few hours at some really nice places - like church sanctuaries and clubhouses and (if the stars align) you receive free college drinks by the handful. And then you end up talking with Friend X's mom for 45 minutes about how much you both enjoy toy poodles, and she repeats the same phrase ("Wasn't it just a beautiful ceremony?") no less than six times. This is typically a sign that it's time to leave this nice place.
Music time!
Greg Laswell, Three Flights from Alto Nido
Electric President, Self-Titled
Wild Sweet Orange, We Have Cause to be Uneasy
Joshua James, The Sun is Always Brighter
The War on Drugs, Wagonwheel Blues
xoxo.
Sitting here at a Starbucks in heart of Dallas after witnessing the matrimony of a couple dazzling individuals. I am a huge fan of weddings for several reasons, which you will [might] now read about:
a) Weddings force you to contemplate weightier things - things like ever-afters, devotion, faith, true love, sincerity, trust. These things are important because they act as just that - weights that tether us to the ground. Without them we'd just kind of float away into the great blue unknown. They make things worthwhile. They're hard. And worthwhile = hard. Not necessarily in Webster's Thesaurus, but in Miller's, the lesser known younger cousin of D-Web (as those of us in the industry call him).
b) You will, without a doubt, run into someone you weren't expecting to see. And it will be refreshing because you haven't seen or even thought of this person in a year - and you will remember why you love this person. And then you won't see them for another year - at the next wedding of another friend. Sometimes weddings, I'm beginning to believe, are the only thing keeping this country together. Obama needs to change his campaign slogan from HOPE to WEDDINGS. It will confuse at first, but then one by one, everyone will understand and nod knowingly.
...and that paragraph went places I hoped I'd never go.
c) There are a lot of stunning females. Creepy, Steve.
d) You get to spend a few hours at some really nice places - like church sanctuaries and clubhouses and (if the stars align) you receive free college drinks by the handful. And then you end up talking with Friend X's mom for 45 minutes about how much you both enjoy toy poodles, and she repeats the same phrase ("Wasn't it just a beautiful ceremony?") no less than six times. This is typically a sign that it's time to leave this nice place.
Music time!
Greg Laswell, Three Flights from Alto Nido
Electric President, Self-Titled
Wild Sweet Orange, We Have Cause to be Uneasy
Joshua James, The Sun is Always Brighter
The War on Drugs, Wagonwheel Blues
xoxo.
8.20.2008
Hi there.
Just wanted to pass on a few things I have been enjoying of late. Sometimes I just need to SHARE something with people - something that makes me so happy that I want to pass on the happy to, well - you. This sort of weird compulsion to experience things with someone. With is a weighty word. There's not enough with out there. Experience these with me:
Just wanted to pass on a few things I have been enjoying of late. Sometimes I just need to SHARE something with people - something that makes me so happy that I want to pass on the happy to, well - you. This sort of weird compulsion to experience things with someone. With is a weighty word. There's not enough with out there. Experience these with me:
- Priscilla Ahn's Take Away Show performance of Dream. If you're not familiar with Take Away Shows, check out the site. Essentially, they place musicians (typically indie types) in public places and simply film them performing - in the backs of taxis, in elevators, street corners, in the middle of crowds. The beauty is in the rawness. If nothing else, check out Priscilla - Dream is a masterpiece.
- The Second Gleaming by the Avett Brothers. This six song EP zooms in on the understated, quiet side of the Avetts. It's gorgeous, acoustic, earnest, summer night music. Check out "Murder in the City" on their MySpace to whet your appetite.
- The Olympics. Duh. Personal faves include women's sand volleyball (not for the reasons you'd expect, perv), Usain Bolt's scary speed, women's gymnastics (for the reasons you'd expect - love you, Nastia!), not women's basketball, Shawn Johnson's adorableness, Bob Costas, Bela Karolyi, swimming relays. Chances are I'm watching some obscure sport as you read this - shirtless and sticking to our leather couch. But happy. Happy as a lark.
- That's all.
8.07.2008
Dr. Horrible and the Pursuit of Happiness
Whoa.
That's the present flavor. It has been a rich, heavy, wearisome, at times overwhelming couple of months. Quick, an update in 50 words or less!!!
Suitcase, plane, lost suitcase, Europe, trains, Grace, sunrise in Barcelona, pesto, wine, wine, wine, sunset in Florence, beer, "Oh, Muy-Kuhl," Austin, Dr. Horrible, sleep in train station, bratwurst, v-neck, Grendel, boat times, Coldplay, "Ha-ha, I have high shoes," trash tanks, TOMS, Fay-Bans, "I can't stop smiling."
So, there you have it. Clears things right up.
Here's the general life plot synopsis, in three acts:
Act I
Europe
London
Paris
Barcelona
Italy
-Florence
-Rome
-Milan
-Como
-Cinque Terra
Switzerland
Germany
Home
Act II
Austin
Act III
Job Hunt
?
Some music that's worth it:
Paper Route, Are We All Forgotten
Coldplay, Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends
Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes
Conor Oberst, Conor Oberst
Shearwater, Rooks
Jakob Dylan, Seeing Things
Jon Foreman, Summer EP
That's the present flavor. It has been a rich, heavy, wearisome, at times overwhelming couple of months. Quick, an update in 50 words or less!!!
Suitcase, plane, lost suitcase, Europe, trains, Grace, sunrise in Barcelona, pesto, wine, wine, wine, sunset in Florence, beer, "Oh, Muy-Kuhl," Austin, Dr. Horrible, sleep in train station, bratwurst, v-neck, Grendel, boat times, Coldplay, "Ha-ha, I have high shoes," trash tanks, TOMS, Fay-Bans, "I can't stop smiling."
So, there you have it. Clears things right up.
Here's the general life plot synopsis, in three acts:
Act I
Europe
London
Paris
Barcelona
Italy
-Florence
-Rome
-Milan
-Como
-Cinque Terra
Switzerland
Germany
Home
Act II
Austin
Act III
Job Hunt
?
Some music that's worth it:
Paper Route, Are We All Forgotten
Coldplay, Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends
Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes
Conor Oberst, Conor Oberst
Shearwater, Rooks
Jakob Dylan, Seeing Things
Jon Foreman, Summer EP
6.06.2008
Off to Europe For a Month...
...for a holiday, as the Brits have more eloquently deemed it (I'm practicing). Might be an occasional post here and there as we (Scotty, Charles, Michael and I) traipse our way through the UK, France, Spain, Italy and Switzerland. Might not. Either way, we're going to leave a trail of sangria, bad decisions and broken hearts in our wake.
Mom asked me earlier today what I'm most looking forward to. "I'm looking forward to the laughs," I replied. That may sound cheesy in writing, but it's true. Upon further thought, however, I have revised my answer. I am most looking forward to this:
Love you, Mom. See you in a month.
5.27.2008
Things I Like, Vol. 1
I like things. Things are really great, unless you worship them. Every so often I’m going to update you on things I like at the present – like a modern show-and-tell session. I once cut the Nike sign out of a pair of shorts in 5th grade for show-and-tell. I showed the class the Nike sign and I told them I liked Nike. That’s essentially what I’ll be doing here, except the only cutting I’ll be partaking in here will be followed by a Command + V. Which brings me to my first item.
MacBook
I always wondered why people were so militantly obsessed with their Apple products. You always hear things like, “I just love my Mac/iPod/iThing! You have got to get one for yourself.” I am always leery a things that people tell me they love; I’m more pessimistic than I wish I were. Oh yeah, and also – I’m a jerk. Well, my brother and sister each purchased a MacBook in the past year because they are smarter than I am, giving me ample time to get acquainted with said device. Like any relationship, it took time to get intimate, to build rapport, to learn to trust.
(Cut to eHarmony commercial with MacBook and I canoodling on the couch, explaining how we met, and how happy we are, and how everyone gets nauseous because we’re such a perfect couple. Me: “She’s just so easy to be with – just so intuitive and knows what I want to do next.” MacBook: “He has such soft fingertips…”) I like MacBooks.
Every Man Jack Mint Body Wash
Now, let’s get one thing clear: I will always be a loufa man. Always. I’ve heard every conceivable anti-loufa argument from all manner of uneducated swine:
• Loufas are gay.
• Loufas collect germs.
I guess those are the only two I’ve heard now that I think about it. Not exactly John Forbes Nash-level rhetoric. I know you bar-soapers won’t be swayed by logic, so I won’t present logic. Instead, I present Every Man Jack Mint Body Wash. The minty fresh assault on your senses will leave you ruminating on its wonders long after you’ve left the confines of your shower. I have literally been looking forward to showering the past couple days since happening upon the faux-wooden bottle at Target. I like Every Man Jack Mint Body Wash.
Music – First Half of 2008
Everyone does year-end best-of lists. Including me – I love them. To cut down my work toward the end of the year and because I thoroughly enjoy talking about music, here are my favorite releases from the first six months of 2008:
Honorable Mention
• Death Cab for Cutie, Narrow Stairs
• PlayRadioPlay!, Texas
• Mates of State, Re-Arrange Us
• The Felice Brothers, Self-Titled
Second-Tier
• MGMT, Oracular Spectacular
• The Helio Sequence, Keep Your Eyes Ahead
• Jon Foreman, Fall, Winter and Spring EP’s
• Vampire Weekend, Self-Titled
• Headlights, Some Racing, Some Stopping
Saucy Minx
• Grand Archives, The Grand Archives
• Bon Iver, For Emma, Forever Ago
If you have not had the pleasure of hearing The Grand Archives or Bon Iver, you have not had much pleasure lately. Out of everything I've heard this year, these two have stuck with me the most. Bon Iver, in particular, lodges deeply in your lower gut. Kind of like IBS without the embarrassment. Anyhow - I think you'll like both of these albums more than you can imagine if you give them a chance. And the rest of them as well. I like music.
MacBook
I always wondered why people were so militantly obsessed with their Apple products. You always hear things like, “I just love my Mac/iPod/iThing! You have got to get one for yourself.” I am always leery a things that people tell me they love; I’m more pessimistic than I wish I were. Oh yeah, and also – I’m a jerk. Well, my brother and sister each purchased a MacBook in the past year because they are smarter than I am, giving me ample time to get acquainted with said device. Like any relationship, it took time to get intimate, to build rapport, to learn to trust.
(Cut to eHarmony commercial with MacBook and I canoodling on the couch, explaining how we met, and how happy we are, and how everyone gets nauseous because we’re such a perfect couple. Me: “She’s just so easy to be with – just so intuitive and knows what I want to do next.” MacBook: “He has such soft fingertips…”) I like MacBooks.
Every Man Jack Mint Body Wash
Now, let’s get one thing clear: I will always be a loufa man. Always. I’ve heard every conceivable anti-loufa argument from all manner of uneducated swine:
• Loufas are gay.
• Loufas collect germs.
I guess those are the only two I’ve heard now that I think about it. Not exactly John Forbes Nash-level rhetoric. I know you bar-soapers won’t be swayed by logic, so I won’t present logic. Instead, I present Every Man Jack Mint Body Wash. The minty fresh assault on your senses will leave you ruminating on its wonders long after you’ve left the confines of your shower. I have literally been looking forward to showering the past couple days since happening upon the faux-wooden bottle at Target. I like Every Man Jack Mint Body Wash.
Music – First Half of 2008Everyone does year-end best-of lists. Including me – I love them. To cut down my work toward the end of the year and because I thoroughly enjoy talking about music, here are my favorite releases from the first six months of 2008:
Honorable Mention
• Death Cab for Cutie, Narrow Stairs
• PlayRadioPlay!, Texas
• Mates of State, Re-Arrange Us
• The Felice Brothers, Self-Titled
Second-Tier
• MGMT, Oracular Spectacular
• The Helio Sequence, Keep Your Eyes Ahead
• Jon Foreman, Fall, Winter and Spring EP’s
• Vampire Weekend, Self-Titled
• Headlights, Some Racing, Some Stopping
Saucy Minx
• Grand Archives, The Grand Archives
• Bon Iver, For Emma, Forever Ago
If you have not had the pleasure of hearing The Grand Archives or Bon Iver, you have not had much pleasure lately. Out of everything I've heard this year, these two have stuck with me the most. Bon Iver, in particular, lodges deeply in your lower gut. Kind of like IBS without the embarrassment. Anyhow - I think you'll like both of these albums more than you can imagine if you give them a chance. And the rest of them as well. I like music.
5.19.2008
The Real Reason You Hated Middle School
Middle school was rough for me. If you polled 100 people on their view of middle school, I’d wager a vast majority would profess a similar sentiment. I mean, have you ever heard anyone say, "Middle school was the best time of my life! I love social awkwardness and scoliosis screenings!" Thus, I don’t make that claim expecting any sympathy. I say it because you probably know what I’m talking about.That being said, my middle school experience was far, far less female-dog-resembling than most. I was an athlete. I got decent grades. I didn’t get teased much. I was in with the hip kids. I was in with the band kids. I had a badass Penny Hardaway jersey (that I wore nearly every Monday in 6th grade with matching shorts). I got by.
Except with girls.
I have this theory. In other words, what you are about to hear is probably false. Nonetheless, I have this theory about girls in middle school – and why I was a comprehensive failure with them.
You see, in middle school you’re labeled. And there’s no escaping that label until a) you do something outrageous enough to earn a new label or b) you get to high school and there are too many kids to label.* It wasn’t until high school that shook my label as the Cute, Sweet Guy.
To a middle school male it’s the Scarlet Letter, kiss of death – whatever you want to call it. You see, girls don’t "go out"** with the cute guys. They go out with the hot guys. Once you’ve been labeled cute, it’s over. Even if you are hot – or even hott – and someone says you’re cute, you’re screwed. You will not have the opportunity to dance too close to a girl at a social. You will not uneasily hold hands under the table during lunch as you down bomb pops and
In 7th grade it was Alex. There were two schools of thought when it came to who held the title of Hottest Girl in the grade. There was my party who supported Alex. She was adorable, athletic, had long blond hair. And then there was the Abbie faction. She was a tall, stunning brunette. But Abbie and I had some history. At least in my eyes. In 5th grade I wrote her a note professing how good she looked in her black Chuck Taylor's, and as a result, how she should be my girlfriend. I guess I should have complimented her jorts instead. Therefore, she did not have my allegiance in the race for the Hottest Girl crown.
In 8th grade it was Karen. Karen was the first female who I was legitimately good friends with. We had Coach Bergmann's third period History class together. To this day, Coach Bergmann remains my favorite teacher and coach in the history of my formal education. More importantly, Karen and I would walk to her locker everyday after class to drop off her books. Let's just say it might as well have been Chemistry class with all the sparks that flew. Let's just say that was a bad joke.
All of these crushes ended in some tragic way - usually with some sort of letter that was never returned. I refuse to believe that I was not boyfriend material - I still hold that it was my label as the Cute, Sweet Guy that no one wanted to date me. I mean, for goodness sakes, there was this redheaded kid named Brett who had a bulbous, hairy growth on his left hand likely caused by overexposure to Surge. But since he was Semi-Athletic Redheaded Guy With Strange Growth, he dated Not Quite the Hottest Cheerleader, But Still Not That Bad.So there's my theory. Like any theory, it must be thoroughly scientifically tested and scrutinized. Or you can just accept it because you trust my judgment and frankly don't care that much. Obviously you weren't Science Nerd.
*An important note here: Labels do exist in high school, but only for the most extreme cases. For instance, you could probably still name the Loose Girl, the Freakish Athlete, the Gay Guy, Brilliant Guy, Cute Girl Who Only Became Hot Senior Year and Now Everyone Notices Her But You’ve Known She Was Going to Be Hot All Along, at your respective high school. Everyone else gets clustered into a general group, which in turn bequeaths its own labels upon those within that assembly. You see how complex this can get. Even Audubon would have problems classifying the average high school.
** Someone needs to do an exhaustive study on the varied names given to “dating,” and how they morph as one’s schooling progresses.
5.14.2008
Gram.
Note: I wrote this several weeks ago when I found out that my Gram was going to pass away within the month. I was in a plane on my way back from Minnesota.
Barbara Roberts Munson passed away today at the age of 78.
It's been a couple days since I heard Gram was going too fast. I was on my way home. Gram is too.
Cities burned below like lava, all orange and glowing through the misty sky as we floated toward Texas. They stood out like lighthouses in the grey dusk. Like a lost traveler, the lights guided me home. For the first time all week I felt like my feet were on solid ground - suspended 20,000 feet in the air.
In the distance a giant cluster of that lava light sprawled out in front of me. I thought of Gram, braving every second, selfless as a blanket, warming everyone with her last energy. As the night crept in, the cities only burned brighter. I missed Gram right then - already.
I cried some. Then I remembered. I remembered Egypt, blueberry pancakes and Babe the pig. I remembered the way she adored her husband, the way they fawned over each other when they celebrated 50 years together. And I remembered how she made some horrendous meat loaf once when I was younger. Mostly I kept remembering her faith.
I miss you, Gram. See you soon.
Barbara Roberts Munson passed away today at the age of 78.
It's been a couple days since I heard Gram was going too fast. I was on my way home. Gram is too.
Cities burned below like lava, all orange and glowing through the misty sky as we floated toward Texas. They stood out like lighthouses in the grey dusk. Like a lost traveler, the lights guided me home. For the first time all week I felt like my feet were on solid ground - suspended 20,000 feet in the air.
In the distance a giant cluster of that lava light sprawled out in front of me. I thought of Gram, braving every second, selfless as a blanket, warming everyone with her last energy. As the night crept in, the cities only burned brighter. I missed Gram right then - already.
I cried some. Then I remembered. I remembered Egypt, blueberry pancakes and Babe the pig. I remembered the way she adored her husband, the way they fawned over each other when they celebrated 50 years together. And I remembered how she made some horrendous meat loaf once when I was younger. Mostly I kept remembering her faith.
I miss you, Gram. See you soon.
5.05.2008
Seattle.
Up here taking in the beauty of the Pacific Northwest this week. Holy goodness. I typically only venture up here for Christmastime to visit the extended family. As a result, to this point my Seattle experience included rain and snow and mean looking clouds. Seattle in the Spring is something very, very different.
I have this recurring dream where I sprint nude through a mountain meadow, wildflowers exploding around me like pollen grenades, birds triumphantly singing songs of freedom, people's faces melting in horror. I also have this habit of revealing too much about what goes on inside this head of mine. What I'm getting at is that if I were to make my dream (it's certainly not anyone else's dream) come true, it'd be here and now. And there would be a friendly, well-spoken Sasquatch involved somehow.
As it stands, that isn't a likely scenario. But not because there aren't friendly Sasquatches (no chance that's the correct plural) out there. No, I have other obligations up here. My grandmother's health taking precedence over everything else. You see, my grandmother has breast cancer. And it's not looking terribly promising. But if you knew Barbara Munson like I did, you'd know that she's not going quietly or quickly or without purpose. On April 16, the doctors gave her between a week and a month to live. Well, here's a picture of Gram taken a couple days ago. She's not going anywhere fast.
It's hard to see one of the feistiest women I've ever known hurting -- she's in a tremendous amount of pain. I saw her cry for the first time in my life this week. But she has a deep faith. That tree-planted-by-the-water kind you read about in Psalm 1. If there's one thing I've learned up here in Seattle it's that trees like water and water produces massive trees and there's something really stunning about a massive tree.
So, if you happen to read this, pray that Gram can sleep well tonight and that she feels Jesus' love. That's all she really wants.
To close, here are some pics of Seattle and the surrounding areas I took this week. Enjoy!?
XOXO,
Gossip Girl
I have this recurring dream where I sprint nude through a mountain meadow, wildflowers exploding around me like pollen grenades, birds triumphantly singing songs of freedom, people's faces melting in horror. I also have this habit of revealing too much about what goes on inside this head of mine. What I'm getting at is that if I were to make my dream (it's certainly not anyone else's dream) come true, it'd be here and now. And there would be a friendly, well-spoken Sasquatch involved somehow.
As it stands, that isn't a likely scenario. But not because there aren't friendly Sasquatches (no chance that's the correct plural) out there. No, I have other obligations up here. My grandmother's health taking precedence over everything else. You see, my grandmother has breast cancer. And it's not looking terribly promising. But if you knew Barbara Munson like I did, you'd know that she's not going quietly or quickly or without purpose. On April 16, the doctors gave her between a week and a month to live. Well, here's a picture of Gram taken a couple days ago. She's not going anywhere fast.
It's hard to see one of the feistiest women I've ever known hurting -- she's in a tremendous amount of pain. I saw her cry for the first time in my life this week. But she has a deep faith. That tree-planted-by-the-water kind you read about in Psalm 1. If there's one thing I've learned up here in Seattle it's that trees like water and water produces massive trees and there's something really stunning about a massive tree.
So, if you happen to read this, pray that Gram can sleep well tonight and that she feels Jesus' love. That's all she really wants.To close, here are some pics of Seattle and the surrounding areas I took this week. Enjoy!?
XOXO,Gossip Girl
4.23.2008
The (Sort of) Great Wall of Miller
Pop and I have finished up a project that we began about 9 months ago. No, this project was not a baby. But it might as well have been with all the pain it has caused us. If it were a baby it'd be a fat one. A chubby little screaming monster. But it wasn't a baby; What we have worked on for months looks a little something like this:
No, it probably (positively) should not have taken 9 months to build (we did take about an eight month hiatus). No, it doesn't look perfect. But yes, we are proud of it because we created it. Kind of like those parents who -- let's be honest -- don't have the World's Most Attractive Kid. But they love that kid more than anything in the world because he/she's theirs. And to them he/she's perfect. Pop and I have had more than one of those Love Actually "to me you are perfect" moments with that wall, minus Keira Knightley.
Life moves on. Literally.
As in, I'm moving to Austin at the beginning of July, starting a new job (hopefully sooner rather than later), and starting a new chapter of my life. For reasons that are mostly boring to explain in writing, it's time to go. Life is not always terribly easy to understand, but sometimes there are these natural breaks, obvious arrows pointing you to go somewhere, to do something. I'll provide some more specifics as we move forward the next few months, so stay tuned.
Recently bought a little point-and-shoot camera, which will hopefully enhance the visual stimulation of these posts. This is my first real, live picture producing device, so I'm probably a little too excited about it. Should you have an encounter with me in the next few months and I ask you to take a picture in a non-picture worthy situation, just smile knowingly, judge me in your head and say, "Sure, Steve, I'll take a picture with you even though we're just filling up at the gas station." I'll get past this honeymoon stage soon. Promise.
(*Sappy nostalgia alert!*) As I write this one, I'm simultaneously listening to the thunder, rain drops and Jon Foreman as the day winds down. One of my favorite things -- always has been -- is being the last one awake in the house, downstairs in the living room with just one lamp on. I think it stems back to my youth when I would spend summer nights at my grandparents' home in Pennsylvania. They have the coziest house in the world. I don't just say that either. I love that house. I think everyone should go to that house and watch a Phillies game on a summer night with my Pappy. It'd solve a lot of the world's problems.
Anyhow, I think that's why I love being here on my couch with the rain pouring down with just one lamp on. This is what Gram and Pappy's home is like.
Back to Jon Foreman. Switchfoot's lead singer is in the process of releasing a six-song EP dedicated to each of the four seasons. So far he's managed Fall, Winter and Spring. Summer is coming soon. Anyhow, these EPs are better than anything Switchfoot has put out. Period. They're at turns stunning, raw and beautiful. They allow Foreman's voice to do a lot of things that his punkish, rockish band does not. The production is impeccable. I can't get over how good they are. Do yourself a favor and at least check out his MySpace.
I'll be out on the road for the next few months, so you may see posts from such exotic locations as: Austin, Seattle and various European countries. Where in the World is Carmen Stevieago? Holy goodness. I'm going to bed.
Love you.
No, it probably (positively) should not have taken 9 months to build (we did take about an eight month hiatus). No, it doesn't look perfect. But yes, we are proud of it because we created it. Kind of like those parents who -- let's be honest -- don't have the World's Most Attractive Kid. But they love that kid more than anything in the world because he/she's theirs. And to them he/she's perfect. Pop and I have had more than one of those Love Actually "to me you are perfect" moments with that wall, minus Keira Knightley.Life moves on. Literally.
As in, I'm moving to Austin at the beginning of July, starting a new job (hopefully sooner rather than later), and starting a new chapter of my life. For reasons that are mostly boring to explain in writing, it's time to go. Life is not always terribly easy to understand, but sometimes there are these natural breaks, obvious arrows pointing you to go somewhere, to do something. I'll provide some more specifics as we move forward the next few months, so stay tuned.
Recently bought a little point-and-shoot camera, which will hopefully enhance the visual stimulation of these posts. This is my first real, live picture producing device, so I'm probably a little too excited about it. Should you have an encounter with me in the next few months and I ask you to take a picture in a non-picture worthy situation, just smile knowingly, judge me in your head and say, "Sure, Steve, I'll take a picture with you even though we're just filling up at the gas station." I'll get past this honeymoon stage soon. Promise.
(*Sappy nostalgia alert!*) As I write this one, I'm simultaneously listening to the thunder, rain drops and Jon Foreman as the day winds down. One of my favorite things -- always has been -- is being the last one awake in the house, downstairs in the living room with just one lamp on. I think it stems back to my youth when I would spend summer nights at my grandparents' home in Pennsylvania. They have the coziest house in the world. I don't just say that either. I love that house. I think everyone should go to that house and watch a Phillies game on a summer night with my Pappy. It'd solve a lot of the world's problems.
Anyhow, I think that's why I love being here on my couch with the rain pouring down with just one lamp on. This is what Gram and Pappy's home is like.
Back to Jon Foreman. Switchfoot's lead singer is in the process of releasing a six-song EP dedicated to each of the four seasons. So far he's managed Fall, Winter and Spring. Summer is coming soon. Anyhow, these EPs are better than anything Switchfoot has put out. Period. They're at turns stunning, raw and beautiful. They allow Foreman's voice to do a lot of things that his punkish, rockish band does not. The production is impeccable. I can't get over how good they are. Do yourself a favor and at least check out his MySpace.
I'll be out on the road for the next few months, so you may see posts from such exotic locations as: Austin, Seattle and various European countries. Where in the World is Carmen Stevieago? Holy goodness. I'm going to bed.
Love you.
4.08.2008
Lost in Translation: How a Redhead & Puppets Ruined My Hungarian Social Life
In the early 90s my family lived in Budapest (pronounced Buda-peSHt), Hungary for two-and-a-half years. Now, there are four Miller siblings. And one Miller Mother. That ratio does not lend itself to a successful homeschooling experience, as we discovered after about a week of attempting the feat. There was a bloody, near-death incident involving a pencil sharpener and a magic marker. We'll leave it at that. Off to Hungarian public school.
So I found myself in Hungarian 1st grade sitting next to a bilingual redhead, whom I developed a semi-crush on because she 1) spoke two languages impeccably well. 2) She was forced to talk to me constantly for the first year on account of my limited grasp of all things Hungarian. And 3) she was brilliant. In fact, I would put money on the fact that she is now a mathematician, understands string theory, and has a really nice pair of intellectual (but yet stylish) reading glasses. She's probably even trilingual. Damn it, Anita, I still want you.
I can't emphasize how rough those first few months were. Going into my first day of class, I only knew a couple phrases: I could say "Yes," "No," "Hello, my name is Stephen," and "Where is the bathroom?" The latter of those is still branded on my brain because Mom forced us to memorize a cheesy ditty with the Hungarian words in it. If you ask, I will sing it for you sometime. Then you, too, can simultaneously impress and nauseate that special Hungarian in your life.
Everyday just after lunch the class would split in two. Half (including Anita) would stick around and hang out in our class, the other half of us would be shipped upstairs to another room -- full of puppets! This Jim Henson wonderland seemed more than odd to me, but I figured, This must be theater class. If I can show these Hungarians anything, it's how Americans are superior thespians. One word: Hollywood, biotches!
We circled the chairs around, our teacher passed hand puppets out to about half the students, and they just began puppet-talking to one another. They seemed to be having very civil, cheerful conversation; I liked it -- until the instructor gave the signal to pass the puppets around the circle and frog puppet landed in my lap. This was my time. I calmly recited my four goto phrases with that amphibian on my hand. Uproarious laughter erupted from the entire circle. I was devastated, thinking my American accent had sold me out.
It wasn't until a couple months later that became aware that daily after lunch the class split in two for foreign language. I was in German class. English was downstairs.
Thanks for the heads up, Anita.
I forgive you, though -- you little trilingual, redheaded angel. Wherever you may be.
I Googled "Anita Redhead." This is what happened.
So I found myself in Hungarian 1st grade sitting next to a bilingual redhead, whom I developed a semi-crush on because she 1) spoke two languages impeccably well. 2) She was forced to talk to me constantly for the first year on account of my limited grasp of all things Hungarian. And 3) she was brilliant. In fact, I would put money on the fact that she is now a mathematician, understands string theory, and has a really nice pair of intellectual (but yet stylish) reading glasses. She's probably even trilingual. Damn it, Anita, I still want you.
I can't emphasize how rough those first few months were. Going into my first day of class, I only knew a couple phrases: I could say "Yes," "No," "Hello, my name is Stephen," and "Where is the bathroom?" The latter of those is still branded on my brain because Mom forced us to memorize a cheesy ditty with the Hungarian words in it. If you ask, I will sing it for you sometime. Then you, too, can simultaneously impress and nauseate that special Hungarian in your life.
Everyday just after lunch the class would split in two. Half (including Anita) would stick around and hang out in our class, the other half of us would be shipped upstairs to another room -- full of puppets! This Jim Henson wonderland seemed more than odd to me, but I figured, This must be theater class. If I can show these Hungarians anything, it's how Americans are superior thespians. One word: Hollywood, biotches!
We circled the chairs around, our teacher passed hand puppets out to about half the students, and they just began puppet-talking to one another. They seemed to be having very civil, cheerful conversation; I liked it -- until the instructor gave the signal to pass the puppets around the circle and frog puppet landed in my lap. This was my time. I calmly recited my four goto phrases with that amphibian on my hand. Uproarious laughter erupted from the entire circle. I was devastated, thinking my American accent had sold me out.
It wasn't until a couple months later that became aware that daily after lunch the class split in two for foreign language. I was in German class. English was downstairs.
Thanks for the heads up, Anita.
I forgive you, though -- you little trilingual, redheaded angel. Wherever you may be.
I Googled "Anita Redhead." This is what happened.
3.29.2008
Anne, Jens and Friends
Sometimes I find words trying to escape me, to be spilt onto the page, like some pushy bully cutting in line, because they find some sort of validity there – some permanence on the page, or screen, or whatever. Sitting here in an Indianapolis
Jens.
Reading Anne Lamott and listening to Jens Lekman spurred on this bout of writing. We’ll get to them in a second. But it can be anything, really. A good conversation (thank you for the best one I’ve had in a long time on Tuesday night, Aubu). Traveling. A certain temperature. Contentment. Sadness. Josh Ritter. I guess they collectively call these things inspiration. But it can be just as quickly be trumped out by, but not limited to: Boredom. Self-consciousness. Emptiness. Sucking at writing. Reading too much Perez Hilton.
Let’s talk about Anne Lamott and Jens Lekman now.
So D.O. told me to read Anne Lamott. I D.O. whatever D.O. tells me to do (take a minute to cringe, compose… and we’re back). She’s good at writing. And she writes about commonplace things in a way that points to their importance – the profundity of the ordinary. My favorite author, ever, is F. Scott Fitzgerald. I once said I’d sacrifice Scotty (my younger brother) to be able to write like him. (This is problematic for several reasons, not the least which is I don’t think Scotty wants to be sacrificed – do you, Scotty? Cuz we can do this right now.) Anyhow, I am starting to think the same about Anne Lamott.
Take this passage, from pages 264-65 (cite your sources!) of Traveling Mercies, for example:
“The truth is your spirits don’t rise until you get way down. Maybe it’s because this—the mud, the bottom—is where it all rises from. Maybe without it, maybe whatever rises would fly off or evaporate before you could even be with it for a moment. But when someone enters that valley with you, that mud, it somehow saves you again. At the marsh all that mud and one old friend worked like a tenderizing mallet. Where before there had been tough fibers, hardness and held breath, now there were mud, water, air, mess—and I felt soft and clean.”
She has a way of taking very, very specific tangible things – tough fibers, hardness, held breath – and applying them to a universally understood concept – pain. I like that because I can understand those things. On top of that, she’s hilarious, uses the F word in all the right places, doesn’t act like she’s OK, and one last thing: she’s good at writing.
Now for our Swedish friend, Jens. Well, Jens is like that friend of yours who’s a little guarded, a little off, took a long time to get to know. He’s hilarious, but only in a way that you can appreciate if you’ve known him a while. He has a bad haircut. You’ve known him for a year and a half, but only now could you really say (or even want to say), “Yeah, we’re friends.” But he’ll be around for the long haul – at all the most important events in your life, bad haircut in tow, because he really has nothing better to do. I know it sounds peculiar talking about a musician like that – someone I’ll never befriend. But this is how I imagine Jens Lekman in my mind.
He wrote these lyrics, and I love them. I think they better describe what it feels to be in like with someone than The Hills or The OC or The Next Sitcom With a Smoking Hot Cast That I Will Unabashedly Dive Headfirst Into, ever will. And they make me giggle because they’re so true.
I saw on TV about this little kid
Who had a pig for a pet
His mom had once been attacked by a dog
So a pig was the closest thing he could get
This has of course nothing to do with anything
I just get so nervous when I’m talking to you
All I think about everyday is just kissing you
And all I’m feeling is that feeling that feels refreshingly new.
OK, so Spring is upon us. In honor of season of love and rain and renewal and warming temps, here’s a list of songs that should make for an ideal soundtrack to the season:
“Scenic World” by
“Kanske Ar Jag Kar I Dig” by Jens Lekman (quoted above)
“Cherry Tulips” by Headlights
“Miniature Birds” by The Grand Archives
“Here We Are” by Patrick Park
“A New Chance” by The Tough
“Hard Days 1.2.3.4.” by Loney, Dear
“The
“Ballad of Carol Lynn” by Whiskeytown
“Painting by Chagall” by The Weepies
“Midnight Coward” by Stars
Jens.3.17.2008
Sex God (Provacative Title!)
Several months ago I chewed through Rob Bell’s Sex God. Believe it or not, it really lived up to its title: it was about Sex and God. And how they go together. Or how God invented Sex. Or maybe it was about strip clubs. I’m not quite sure anymore, but I did like a lot of what Rob had to say. A lot of it was conjecture, but what I like about Rob’s conjectures is that they don’t straddle the line. He says what he means. Even if what he means isn’t necessarily true all the time.
One Rob-truth especially stuck with me – perhaps because it’s a Truth-truth: it went something along the lines of “...something serious -- something hellish happens when people are treated as objects, and we should resist it at all costs. (p. 22)" In my words: every time we dehumanize someone we bring a little bit of hell to Earth.
If it’s a Truth-truth then I am guilty of bringing a hell of a lot hell to Earth:
So what do we do with this? We ask God to make us painfully aware of when our hearts judge – and thus put distance between – one another. We ask God to heal those relationships that are busted up. We ask God to do these things, and then we act. We act as a sort of glue to a world where everything is broken by loving those who need love, by loving those who are impossible to love. Relationship by relationship it’s possible to bring a little bit of Heaven to Earth. I think what God is saying in Isaiah 58 in regards to sacrifice also applies here:
3.02.2008
Random Smatterings from the Past Couple Weeks.
Here are some random thoughts from the past week, in bulleted format:
- Had Once, the delightfully simple Irish movie that almost no one saw, ($14 mil in revenues (maybe that's a lot for a movie that cost only $100k to make? (I apologize for the triple parentheses))) not won the Academy Award for Best Song for the stunning "Falling Slowly," I'd have written hate mail the entire cast of Enchanted -- animated characters included. Not even kidding. I'm not typically the hate mailing kind, and I know the Academy Awards often honor the wrong film, but it would have honestly made me a disgruntled human; because Falling Slowly was the best song in a movie last year. All that said, I was extraordinarily happy when Glen and Marketa won. If you get a chance, rent it. It'll give you goose bumps and the feel-goods. And **(For Guys Eyes Only Section)** you might end up holding hands with whomever you see it. Unless it's Brian Pattillo because that's who I saw it with (the first time). He wasn't too into that hand holding business. Prude! Here's a link to an interview with the two stars of the movie -- it's great to see a couple of wonderfully gracious people get some recognition.
- I saw There Will Be Blood with my Pop on Wednesday. Interesting movie to see with your Pop (or your Old Man or Dad or Mom -- whatever you call the father figure in your life) because of all the relationship dynamics between father-son. Frankly, it's a painful movie to take in (or probably more accurately -- it takes you in), but it sticks in your stomach like the marble pound cake I just consumed at the World's Largest Coffee Chain. Pop and I have talked about it quite a bit, trying to figure out what in the world it was supposed to mean. One thing we and the rest of the world agree on is that Daniel Day-Lewis is mesmerizing -- in the same way that baseball-sized hail is mesmerizing. And Furbies. Hideous, destructive (I can think of at least 10 ways Furbies are destructive!), but just try to look away. You judge who looks more frightening:
OR
OR
OR
- Life outside of relationship is not life. This has never been more obvious to me. Nothing has been beaten into my head more the past year. It has probably been the loneliest year of my life so far. Not in a woe-is-me, curled-up-in-the-fetal-position-quoting-Poe sense. More in the literal, I-have-been-alone-A-LOT sense. In hotels. In airports. In small Midwestern towns. In massive neon-tinged cities. In rental cars. Deep relationship with God and deep relationship with other people make life worth it, but they have been hard to come by. Deep relationship with myself does not. And frankly life falls apart when I don't recognize this -- or do recognize this, and choose to live otherwise. As a consequence, I have never craved deep, messy, honest relationship more than I do right now. As a consequence, the ugly part of me is waging a fairly successful assault against that very idea with the shallow ("I'm doing fine"), clean ("I'm doing fine") and dishonest ("I'm doing fine"). So, let's be friends. And if I ever say "I'm doing fine," threaten me with Furbies until the truth comes out.
- Quickly, go check out these 3 bands!:
12.26.2007
Top Albums of 2007
As another year comes to a close (I originally began work on this post at the end of December)-- another year in which I spent way too much of my GNP on music -- and another year in which I failed to make a habit of keeping my blog updated -- I thought the only appropriate way to finish out the year would be to state my case for the best musical offerings of the year, in a sporadic blog format. That was a terribly long introductory sentence. Long sentences are supposedly the death of any journalist. If I don't finish this post, then you know the reason.
I positively HATE it when people try to categorize an entire year at the movies, or music, or art, or politics into a single sentence. Isn't that the point of all these things -- they're more complicated, more beautiful -- like life -- than a sentence can contain? They're not meant to be categorized and defined. I say all this because I originally began this paragraph with this little number: "It was a strong year for music, overall." Nice.
The more I think about it, though, it was a really strong year for music, overall. So I'll stand by that statement.
So without too much further blabbering, here are my favorite albums from 2007.
The Tough Alliance - A New Chance
The album that made me feel the best in the past year. Like Saturday morning cartoons thrown in a blender with bubbalicious gum and Barney. Minus the purple blood.
The Avett Brothers - Emotionalism
These guys kind of came out of nowhere for me -- and boy do I like surprises! Almost as much as I like Acie Law IV. Kind of a countrified version of the Righteous Brothers -- sweet harmonies mixed with banjos make for a lovely listen.
Shout Out Louds - Our Ill Wills
Swedes have made some really important contributions to the world. IKEA, for one. I can't think of a second at this moment. But the Shout Out Louds are definitely third. Their sound blends synthesizers and all the best things about pop into a swirl of fun, if you can manage to ignore their depressing lyrics. I can!
Jettie - Kites for Charity
Remember how I couldn't remember the second best thing to come out of Sweden? Just thought of it - this album by Jettie. Might be the prettiest album of the year. Might not. Either way, it's the type of music that makes your chest swell with excitement.
Once - Soundtrack
My favorite movie from that last year also boasts the best soundtrack from the past year. If you haven't seen the movie, the music will still resonate with you. If you have seen the movie, it'll just about change your life.
Band of Horses - Cease to Begin
This one grew on me the more I listened to it. Their first album, Everything All the Time, was the same way. Like a fine wine. Except you want to drink it up fast because it's that good, and you didn't pay $200 for it.
The Weakerthans - Reunion Tour
I bought this one just as winter started to set in, and it kept me company like a good book, a warm blanket and a Grande Mint Mocha as the days became more blustery.
Ryan Adams - Easy Tiger
For perhaps the first time in his career, Ryno decided not to try to put all of his ideas into one album. He used descretion. And the results are his most widely-acclaimed album since the turn of the millennium. He also gets some extra points for providing my best memory of the year -- his Fall concert in Dallas.
Andrew Bird - Armchair Apocrypha
One of the first albums I bought back in February. I found myself continually finding something new to grasp with it as I came back to it again and again throughout the year. It's at turns sarcastic, deep, scientific(?!), heart-melting, awe-inspiring and just good. He might be the smartest man in rock.
Okkervil River - Stage Names
The stories Okkervil are telling are sad ones, but they're coated with sweetness, which makes them palatable. And the album is far beyond palatable -- it's downright delicious. The first time I heard "Savannah Smiles" I literally wept. Like a small boy.
Kanye West - Graduation
Alright, let's get this straight -- Kanye West is a bastard. He just also happens to be the best rapper alive. And unlike many who have more of a conscience than I do -- I can separate the music from the man. Like Kanye's other releases, Graduation is all over the map musically. There are party starters. There are party enders. There's Chris Martin singing hooks. There are old white men and young black men backing him up. And me enjoying all of it.
Fionn Regan - The End of History
Good old-fashioned, finger-picking folk. Soothing to the soul like Vick's. On a side note: this poor lad has the palest skin I've ever seen in person. Saw him at ACL this year, and I'm pretty confident that was the first time he'd seen the sun -- ever? Oh, and his backup singer's name was Gypsy. She was pale too.
Feist - The Reminder
Had you told me at the beginning of the year that Leslie Feist would be a name that most Americans would know (on account of her ubiquitous iPod ads), I'd have called you stupid. You can now call me stupid. I loved her first one. This one is better. Summertime in MP3 format.
Peter Bjorn and John - Writer's Block
Every year my little bro, Scotty, and I try to find our "Summer Album." Basically, the album that you listen to with the windows down at sunset and sing out loud. It sounds cheesy because it is. A couple of years ago it was Pneumonia by Whiskey Town. This year it was PB&J.
Arcade Fire - Neon Bible
If Funeral was a runaway freight train, this one was a freight train slamming on the breaks -- same scary power, same ability to smash anything in its way -- but with more control. Only now and then do AF truly, truly let loose, but there is a staggering beauty in the restraint.
The National - Boxer
Whew -- where to begin? This album has all the weight of a winter storm, but at the same time manages to be completely uplifting. Not a small feat. The lyrics are simple, and lead singer Matt Berninger repeats himself so much you start to think he's talking down to you. Then you realize he's making a poignant statement he doesn't want you to miss. Then you realize this might be your favorite album from 2007. If not for..
Josh Ritter - Historical Conquests
It grabs you from the gut with sugary hooks and holds on with lyrics that go deep. Some might complain that it's not as cohesive as his other releases, but I love the swirling, blundering, hodge podge of modern folk that exudes from Ritter's soul. It teeters on the edge of pandemonium, but balances with some sweet, slow ones. Kind of like falling in love.
I positively HATE it when people try to categorize an entire year at the movies, or music, or art, or politics into a single sentence. Isn't that the point of all these things -- they're more complicated, more beautiful -- like life -- than a sentence can contain? They're not meant to be categorized and defined. I say all this because I originally began this paragraph with this little number: "It was a strong year for music, overall." Nice.
The more I think about it, though, it was a really strong year for music, overall. So I'll stand by that statement.
So without too much further blabbering, here are my favorite albums from 2007.
The Tough Alliance - A New Chance
The album that made me feel the best in the past year. Like Saturday morning cartoons thrown in a blender with bubbalicious gum and Barney. Minus the purple blood.
The Avett Brothers - Emotionalism
These guys kind of came out of nowhere for me -- and boy do I like surprises! Almost as much as I like Acie Law IV. Kind of a countrified version of the Righteous Brothers -- sweet harmonies mixed with banjos make for a lovely listen.
Shout Out Louds - Our Ill Wills
Swedes have made some really important contributions to the world. IKEA, for one. I can't think of a second at this moment. But the Shout Out Louds are definitely third. Their sound blends synthesizers and all the best things about pop into a swirl of fun, if you can manage to ignore their depressing lyrics. I can!
Jettie - Kites for Charity
Remember how I couldn't remember the second best thing to come out of Sweden? Just thought of it - this album by Jettie. Might be the prettiest album of the year. Might not. Either way, it's the type of music that makes your chest swell with excitement.
Once - Soundtrack
My favorite movie from that last year also boasts the best soundtrack from the past year. If you haven't seen the movie, the music will still resonate with you. If you have seen the movie, it'll just about change your life.
Band of Horses - Cease to Begin
This one grew on me the more I listened to it. Their first album, Everything All the Time, was the same way. Like a fine wine. Except you want to drink it up fast because it's that good, and you didn't pay $200 for it.
The Weakerthans - Reunion Tour
I bought this one just as winter started to set in, and it kept me company like a good book, a warm blanket and a Grande Mint Mocha as the days became more blustery.
Ryan Adams - Easy Tiger
For perhaps the first time in his career, Ryno decided not to try to put all of his ideas into one album. He used descretion. And the results are his most widely-acclaimed album since the turn of the millennium. He also gets some extra points for providing my best memory of the year -- his Fall concert in Dallas.
Andrew Bird - Armchair Apocrypha
One of the first albums I bought back in February. I found myself continually finding something new to grasp with it as I came back to it again and again throughout the year. It's at turns sarcastic, deep, scientific(?!), heart-melting, awe-inspiring and just good. He might be the smartest man in rock.
Okkervil River - Stage Names
The stories Okkervil are telling are sad ones, but they're coated with sweetness, which makes them palatable. And the album is far beyond palatable -- it's downright delicious. The first time I heard "Savannah Smiles" I literally wept. Like a small boy.
Kanye West - Graduation
Alright, let's get this straight -- Kanye West is a bastard. He just also happens to be the best rapper alive. And unlike many who have more of a conscience than I do -- I can separate the music from the man. Like Kanye's other releases, Graduation is all over the map musically. There are party starters. There are party enders. There's Chris Martin singing hooks. There are old white men and young black men backing him up. And me enjoying all of it.
Fionn Regan - The End of History
Good old-fashioned, finger-picking folk. Soothing to the soul like Vick's. On a side note: this poor lad has the palest skin I've ever seen in person. Saw him at ACL this year, and I'm pretty confident that was the first time he'd seen the sun -- ever? Oh, and his backup singer's name was Gypsy. She was pale too.
Feist - The Reminder
Had you told me at the beginning of the year that Leslie Feist would be a name that most Americans would know (on account of her ubiquitous iPod ads), I'd have called you stupid. You can now call me stupid. I loved her first one. This one is better. Summertime in MP3 format.
Peter Bjorn and John - Writer's Block
Every year my little bro, Scotty, and I try to find our "Summer Album." Basically, the album that you listen to with the windows down at sunset and sing out loud. It sounds cheesy because it is. A couple of years ago it was Pneumonia by Whiskey Town. This year it was PB&J.
Arcade Fire - Neon Bible
If Funeral was a runaway freight train, this one was a freight train slamming on the breaks -- same scary power, same ability to smash anything in its way -- but with more control. Only now and then do AF truly, truly let loose, but there is a staggering beauty in the restraint.
The National - Boxer
Whew -- where to begin? This album has all the weight of a winter storm, but at the same time manages to be completely uplifting. Not a small feat. The lyrics are simple, and lead singer Matt Berninger repeats himself so much you start to think he's talking down to you. Then you realize he's making a poignant statement he doesn't want you to miss. Then you realize this might be your favorite album from 2007. If not for..
Josh Ritter - Historical Conquests
It grabs you from the gut with sugary hooks and holds on with lyrics that go deep. Some might complain that it's not as cohesive as his other releases, but I love the swirling, blundering, hodge podge of modern folk that exudes from Ritter's soul. It teeters on the edge of pandemonium, but balances with some sweet, slow ones. Kind of like falling in love.
7.13.2007
The "Butter"fly Effect
Disclaimer: I hope you think this story is funny, but there is a strong possibility that it might suffer from the dreaded "you had to be there" syndrome. I apologize if this is the case. Onward!
So about a month ago I was in Miami for work, and was eating dinner with a coworker. Like most major metropolitan areas, there is a fairly substantial homeless population (Just FYI -- should I ever become homeless, I'm moving to Miami where the temperate year-round climate and flamboyant neon signage is enough to make anyone squeal with delight!). Most of the restaurants in the MIA are outdoor cafes per the aforementioned temperatures. Hordes of tourists and locals roam the streets, mingling with these restaurateurs. Therefore, you often get what I like to call Hoverers. Basically, someone decides they are going to hang out over your table just a little bit longer than is considered socially comfortable. Maybe they don't mean to -- maybe they're just waiting for a fellow patron, or need a minute to catch their breath. I'm not one to judge.
So, it didn't surprise my co-worker and I when a homeless man hovered at the acceptable 5-to-10-foot distance (see section 2.3.5 in the "Hovering for Dummies" handbook -- available at a respectable book dealer near you) for about 10 seconds. It did surprise us, however, when he advanced into the more intimate 2-3-foot range. It struck me at this point that this was no ordinary Hoverer. He was not simply passively hovering; rather, he was hovering with intent. The object of his desire immediately became apparent.
With a few strong-willed glances and a confident point at our bread basket, he made his intentions known: he wanted bread. We offered the basket to him, told him to take whatever he wanted. He smiled, swiftly reached toward the basket -- over the entire basket of bread -- scooped up a single butter package from the table, and disappeared into the crowd. This absolutely killed me for some reason, and I started laughing uncontrollably.
Moral of the story? Man does not live on bread alone. He needs butter, too.
Or something like that. For further reading see Matthew 4:4.
Love you.
Steve
So about a month ago I was in Miami for work, and was eating dinner with a coworker. Like most major metropolitan areas, there is a fairly substantial homeless population (Just FYI -- should I ever become homeless, I'm moving to Miami where the temperate year-round climate and flamboyant neon signage is enough to make anyone squeal with delight!). Most of the restaurants in the MIA are outdoor cafes per the aforementioned temperatures. Hordes of tourists and locals roam the streets, mingling with these restaurateurs. Therefore, you often get what I like to call Hoverers. Basically, someone decides they are going to hang out over your table just a little bit longer than is considered socially comfortable. Maybe they don't mean to -- maybe they're just waiting for a fellow patron, or need a minute to catch their breath. I'm not one to judge.
So, it didn't surprise my co-worker and I when a homeless man hovered at the acceptable 5-to-10-foot distance (see section 2.3.5 in the "Hovering for Dummies" handbook -- available at a respectable book dealer near you) for about 10 seconds. It did surprise us, however, when he advanced into the more intimate 2-3-foot range. It struck me at this point that this was no ordinary Hoverer. He was not simply passively hovering; rather, he was hovering with intent. The object of his desire immediately became apparent.
With a few strong-willed glances and a confident point at our bread basket, he made his intentions known: he wanted bread. We offered the basket to him, told him to take whatever he wanted. He smiled, swiftly reached toward the basket -- over the entire basket of bread -- scooped up a single butter package from the table, and disappeared into the crowd. This absolutely killed me for some reason, and I started laughing uncontrollably.
Moral of the story? Man does not live on bread alone. He needs butter, too.
Or something like that. For further reading see Matthew 4:4.
Love you.
Steve
5.24.2007
Imaginary Diseases
Up until last weekend I had been going through what I will from here on out dub a Musical Discovery Drought (MDD). Let me explain.
Typically, I have no difficulties finding a new album to enrapture me for a few weeks. More often than not I can literally just walk into any music dealer, spend five minutes perusing the aisles and emerge with 10 different albums I have been dying to buy. Lately, though, I have not been in any hurry to buy any albums. In fact, I was afraid for a minute that I was beginning to lose my obsession with music. While on one hand it would be a fiscally beneficial loss, it would also be a dreadfully sad one. Kind of like when you were little and you got that one precious item for your birthday that you had been begging for to no end. (For me, this may or may not have been a pair of tap dance shoes). You were elated at first, but then somewhere around two weeks later you found yourself ignoring that item in favor of the next big thing. How sad must that thing feel being ignored like that? I don’t think that this analogy really works that well, but now you know I desperately wanted to be a tap dancer a great deal more than any young boy should.
5.04.2007
Blog It Like It's Hot
This is my third blogging experience. The now defunct "Vanillarush10" blog and "SomeoneElseStoleVanillarush10" blog have long been retired, and have made it quite clear they wish to stay that way. And I'm not one to argue with a retired blog. Everyone knows how grumpy the retired can be. Sure, I could have resurrected those old friends from blog oblivion, but it would have required a significant expenditure of blood, sweat and tears. Or just remembering old passwords that I made up 3 years ago.
Anyway, I'll be updating my personal state of the union with some music musings, some tale-spinning, a photograph or so and maybe an occasional visit from our friend, YouTube. On that note, I'm sure you've seen this by now, but it has given me a great deal of joy the past couple days:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nda_OSWeyn8
I wanna know where the gold at!
Anyway, I'll be updating my personal state of the union with some music musings, some tale-spinning, a photograph or so and maybe an occasional visit from our friend, YouTube. On that note, I'm sure you've seen this by now, but it has given me a great deal of joy the past couple days:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nda_OSWeyn8
I wanna know where the gold at!
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