Jesu is a great band. Just swiped the Sundown/Surnise EP yesterday, and I think it's my favorite record by them. I'm not sure which one I prefer between Conqueror and Silver; the former is more shoegaze and less metal, which is toward my usual tastes, but the latter has "Star."
Changed the url for this page. Used to be [my full name].blogspot.com. Now it is differentcities.blogspot.com. Uncertain of the consequences that will have. Either way, since this blog is decidedly unprofessional, having my name in the url is probably not the best of ideas.
In any case, what I meant to say was...I set out at 9PM last night for a walk. Too restless. Ended up at the swings in Hampden and swung on them until I felt a little sick. Then I lay down on the slide a bit.
Rather troubling when Smiths songs make more sense as I age, not less. Especially the middle sequence of The Queen is Dead. Getting suspicious that underneath Morrissey's sarcastic airs was the bitterness that the time for complaining about problems (and therefore setting them up for potential resolution) had already come and gone, and there was nothing left but the gallows humor of ridiculing everything, including oneself, for them. From that perspective, Morrissey was even more of a depressive than Ian Curtis. Ian went down singing, "gotta find my destiny before it gets too late," but Morrissey could "feel the soil falling over my head," though he survived.
Wonder what it means when I've been listening to The Smiths more and Joy Division less. I mean, of course I know what specific meaning I could extract from these observations, it's just not in my nature to spell it out.
These following thoughts were precipitated by Diamond's discussing with me a girl who saw him at Miguel's July 4th party but was "too nervous" to talk to him, so asked him out on a date through Myspace. (Ergo: you may want to stop paying attention before your mental image of me is ruined forever.) I'll be honest: it does bother me, when I allow myself to think about it, which is not very often (I keep a tight leash on my thoughts these days, except when I'm tired), that since 10th grade, which is pretty much six years ago, the number of people (girls; I've never been propositioned by gay guys, though they sneak up on me at Sonar from time to time) who have tried to initiate a relationship with me before I did anything is exactly two. The rest of the time was all filled with unrequited crushes on my part; except for periods, such as the present, when it was filled with a lack of either.
It's not like I haven't tried to be a good, at least by my own standards, human being, for that and myriad other reasons. In fact, that ends up being part of the problem: over the years I've learned, worked to perfect the things I considered at various points to be my "art," done my best to be kind and sympathetic, except when my nerves failed me--and though by my own judgment, I've succeeded, for the most part, in becoming a smarter/wiser/more understanding/more adept (at whatever it is I do) person than I was before, despite all this evolution (intentional and otherwise), solitude seems to be the one constant element of my condition (except when I took a seven-month vacation from it a couple of years back--but nobody except me seems to remember, or want to remember, that ever happened), obstinate to the point that I gradually become more obsessed with changing this one aspect of my life and more indifferent to advancements I make in all others; yet every step that I take away from that state seems to bring me back in the end. And if all the changes within my power to make cannot alter this condition, then what's there left for me to do?
Dissolve into a blob of listlessness, I expect. You kind of lose your incentive to do anything when you start accepting that the most important things in life are beyond your power to change.
Same reason I can never take comfort in my friends that much. My closer friends and I share lots: art, events, and often angst, but always in the back of my mind is the realization that eventually they will go on to separate happiness, especially since we're looking for the same damn things (why else would we be friends?), while in my life, everything changes, except the important things. Statistics and past experiences don't determine anything, but one's expectations are an exception.
I believe these sentiments have reached a saturation point, though. At least if they go any further, pretty soon I'll likely become so listless that they'll all start to seem like one big joke, and maybe then I'll finally be able to laugh, misspell "cemetery," and forget about all this absurdity.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
To Wonder Why in Baltimore
Had one of those days yesterday when I was just absolutely unmotivated to do anything at all, sleepwalked, dragged feet and didn't care. Think it's because the first thing I did that morning was to try and work on That Song, but it just wasn't happening, good sounds weren't happening, and after a while that can really ruin a boy's day. I'm not really good enough at this computer thing yet; the "make any sound I want on cue" standard hasn't been matched, and I should probably cut production and fuck with software some more before doing anything else. There's just no time to waste on anything. It's really quite unreasonable.
Last week of July but yesterday looked more early autumn than anything; I don't know if it's just me, or if the sun's been getting lower earlier, but I guess we are past the solstice after all. After a whole lot of nothing the first couple of months of summer, things are really starting to pick up: Pittsburgh this Saturday, birthday and possibly people crashing my place next weekend, one final weekend before I (possibly) take the GREs and go home. Might not even get to visit up north this summer, which would be a break in tradition from the past two summers. Going to have to apologize to Lindsay and Andrew, among other people, though. Didn't really expect things to go down this way, which I suppose was the entire issue.
Whartscape and the Battles/Deerhunter gig, plus Artscape, were all this past weekend. Friday night was Whartscape for me. Revisited the H&H for the first time in what feels like years, but was probably only 9 months or so. It was alright, stuffy, plenty of kids in weird clothes, Ecstatic Sunshine, Cex and all that. Felt too sane for this city of loons, and a little too appreciative of fresh air.
Saturday turned out to be particularly euphoric for me, for whatever reason (seeing three different girls I had crushes on at various points in time probably had something to do with it). I wandered down to Artscape with Diamond, Maura, John, and Vijay, but ended up bouncing back and forth between various groups of people; Ceci of all people came in from across the Bay with her new boyfriend, scruffy hippie-looking type she met at--whatever that outdoors school deal is--and DHP. She seemed to be happy with her person and her life; barely a trace of the awkward nerve that still permeated her behavior, as of the last time I saw her, which was admittedly nearly three years ago. Maybe--and this is the cynical part of me speaking, but only partly--being with boys really makes her feel better about herself, which is what I gathered from Maria telling me stories about their last year in high school together. Whatever makes her happy; I wouldn't wish her any less. Still, awkward nerve was one of the things I found most attractive about her four years ago, so it's somewhat regrettable. Or maybe that just means I was(am?) an idiot.
Also saw Sarahs K. and M. for the first time since the excellent desert party in April. We checked out the animated pieces in the short films tent. Stories about a man whose mouth was a black hole, who ended up eating himself in grief after accidentally devouring the love of his life. And so on. Probably enjoyed it more than either of them or their friend Sikma did. Most of the people I associate with have an appreciation for the macabre; I'm always surprised when people who don't seem to have any darkness in them come into my life. Finally I caught up with John, the Matthews, Maura, and Vijay, who were packing bourbon and a forty of Coors Light, went to see Beach House play at the end of a dead-end alley (climbed onto a ledge, and then a garbage bin for a better view), and Bradford and Lockett from Deerhunter also showed up, standing not 10ft away from us. Got drunk standing on the sidewalk of Howard St. in the daytime and wandered up north for crepes next door to Charles Theatre, made our way back up north for the Battles show--
--I wonder if this new laundry-list style of recording has anything to do with any phobia of assigning significance to any present-day event--
--where we listened to some acid-trippers talk about "time as a dimension" (though not what about it) in the line for the door, before meeting up with Anna and her summer roommate Emily inside, good Deerhunter set, made me like them more than I did before, even better Battles set. Left early because of Anna's contacts irritating. Maura tried to convince us on the walk back that our beloved Battles (much like !!! before them) was in fact a jam band, and that Diamond and I should start listening to jam bands. I politely withdrew from the conversation. When I got home to the far end of Charles Village there was already an IM from Diamond telling me, "Anna's friend was cute," something which I have made fun of him for the past three days. The world is funnier when you've got no heart. Of course, the price is having to maintain that facade to yourself.
Whatever though. Times run out and I'm still sitting in goddamn Cafe Q doing little of consequence, and not even having covered Sunday or Monday (or anything at all of importance, if such things exist outside of my repressed imagination). Going to piranha etch a silicon plate and go home for lunch.
That wasn't some kind of metaphor. Goddamn, that was real.
Last week of July but yesterday looked more early autumn than anything; I don't know if it's just me, or if the sun's been getting lower earlier, but I guess we are past the solstice after all. After a whole lot of nothing the first couple of months of summer, things are really starting to pick up: Pittsburgh this Saturday, birthday and possibly people crashing my place next weekend, one final weekend before I (possibly) take the GREs and go home. Might not even get to visit up north this summer, which would be a break in tradition from the past two summers. Going to have to apologize to Lindsay and Andrew, among other people, though. Didn't really expect things to go down this way, which I suppose was the entire issue.
Whartscape and the Battles/Deerhunter gig, plus Artscape, were all this past weekend. Friday night was Whartscape for me. Revisited the H&H for the first time in what feels like years, but was probably only 9 months or so. It was alright, stuffy, plenty of kids in weird clothes, Ecstatic Sunshine, Cex and all that. Felt too sane for this city of loons, and a little too appreciative of fresh air.
Saturday turned out to be particularly euphoric for me, for whatever reason (seeing three different girls I had crushes on at various points in time probably had something to do with it). I wandered down to Artscape with Diamond, Maura, John, and Vijay, but ended up bouncing back and forth between various groups of people; Ceci of all people came in from across the Bay with her new boyfriend, scruffy hippie-looking type she met at--whatever that outdoors school deal is--and DHP. She seemed to be happy with her person and her life; barely a trace of the awkward nerve that still permeated her behavior, as of the last time I saw her, which was admittedly nearly three years ago. Maybe--and this is the cynical part of me speaking, but only partly--being with boys really makes her feel better about herself, which is what I gathered from Maria telling me stories about their last year in high school together. Whatever makes her happy; I wouldn't wish her any less. Still, awkward nerve was one of the things I found most attractive about her four years ago, so it's somewhat regrettable. Or maybe that just means I was(am?) an idiot.
Also saw Sarahs K. and M. for the first time since the excellent desert party in April. We checked out the animated pieces in the short films tent. Stories about a man whose mouth was a black hole, who ended up eating himself in grief after accidentally devouring the love of his life. And so on. Probably enjoyed it more than either of them or their friend Sikma did. Most of the people I associate with have an appreciation for the macabre; I'm always surprised when people who don't seem to have any darkness in them come into my life. Finally I caught up with John, the Matthews, Maura, and Vijay, who were packing bourbon and a forty of Coors Light, went to see Beach House play at the end of a dead-end alley (climbed onto a ledge, and then a garbage bin for a better view), and Bradford and Lockett from Deerhunter also showed up, standing not 10ft away from us. Got drunk standing on the sidewalk of Howard St. in the daytime and wandered up north for crepes next door to Charles Theatre, made our way back up north for the Battles show--
--I wonder if this new laundry-list style of recording has anything to do with any phobia of assigning significance to any present-day event--
--where we listened to some acid-trippers talk about "time as a dimension" (though not what about it) in the line for the door, before meeting up with Anna and her summer roommate Emily inside, good Deerhunter set, made me like them more than I did before, even better Battles set. Left early because of Anna's contacts irritating. Maura tried to convince us on the walk back that our beloved Battles (much like !!! before them) was in fact a jam band, and that Diamond and I should start listening to jam bands. I politely withdrew from the conversation. When I got home to the far end of Charles Village there was already an IM from Diamond telling me, "Anna's friend was cute," something which I have made fun of him for the past three days. The world is funnier when you've got no heart. Of course, the price is having to maintain that facade to yourself.
Whatever though. Times run out and I'm still sitting in goddamn Cafe Q doing little of consequence, and not even having covered Sunday or Monday (or anything at all of importance, if such things exist outside of my repressed imagination). Going to piranha etch a silicon plate and go home for lunch.
That wasn't some kind of metaphor. Goddamn, that was real.
Watch Out for the Watching Out
Yay, Blogspot doesn't let you see the last word. You'll just have to imagine what it is. And if you can't...should you even be reading this blog, in general?
Your Score: Ceiling Cat
30% Affectionate, 27% Excitable, 31% Hungry
You are a master of stealth. They never see you coming. But you always see them coming. HEY-O!
To see all possible results, checka dis.
| Link: The Which Lolcat Are You? Test written by GumOtaku on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test |
Friday, July 20, 2007
Fried Day
Yesterday was July 19. Five years to the day that dad died. On that day every year, my mother, my brother and I recite a sutra (dont' know what it's called in English). Neither Ben nor I got into Buddhism when mom did, so for us it's almost completely a familial ritual instead of a religious one. Either way, I went out on the fire escape at 11PM, and, not really having anything to look towards (such as a portrait of dad, etc.), I just read the words out into the Baltimore night air. The second part of the sutra we read isn't even in Chinese or any other language I understand, but after 5 years, it's complete muscle memory.
I'll never understand what the difference was between my mother and I that caused her to respond to dad's illness and death by embracing Buddhism and belief in karma, and I by subscribing to postmodernism and existentialism (or something of the like), especially since her rationality makes my current aloofness look like the most syrupy sentimentalism in comparison, and hell, she probably read Nietzsche and Sartre at a younger age than I did. Whatever the reason, it's probably the same reason that makes her believe that good things still come to good people, and unable to understand why good people sometimes do bad things--whereas I had to explain to her that people were people, first of all, with all attendant virtues and vices, "good" or not, and that is why my Lutheran pastor uncle had an affair with a member of his congregation and later quit the clergy.
Same reason fine kids get kicked out of boarding school for their drug habits while assholes go on to the Ivy League. Same reason good doctors get cancer and die. Which is to say, of course, no good reason at all.
I remember the morning of 2002 July 19. I remember the clothes I was wearing, even. And other details. Which I shall not go into. I remember feeling the crush of responsibility of having to play father-figure to Ben (which never really happened in the end, due to my extended absences) at age 16 and wondering why it all had to happen to me. Same reason of course. We deserve our fates as much as we deserve anyone else's fates, as much as anyone else deserves our own; which is to say, of course, not at all. We deserve nothing, and thus may choose anything. Anything that is within the bounds of possibility, of course. Bounds which we may not choose. Contradiction is a spiral.
Chinese folk tradition is ancestral worship; the belief is that deceased predecessors are guardian spirits. I remember once, very soon after dad died, mom told Ben and I to pray to dad. Familial rituals, once again. I remember what I asked: "to be helped to always do the right thing." And so it's been, doing the right thing, sometimes to the extent of a total lack of sympathy, whether for myself or for others. And sometimes forsaking the good things for the right things.
I asked something else last night: to be kept on the path of right things, but be rid of the attendant solitude. I don't know if that's like asking a carriage to drive itself without a horse. Perhaps. But I hope not.
I'll never understand what the difference was between my mother and I that caused her to respond to dad's illness and death by embracing Buddhism and belief in karma, and I by subscribing to postmodernism and existentialism (or something of the like), especially since her rationality makes my current aloofness look like the most syrupy sentimentalism in comparison, and hell, she probably read Nietzsche and Sartre at a younger age than I did. Whatever the reason, it's probably the same reason that makes her believe that good things still come to good people, and unable to understand why good people sometimes do bad things--whereas I had to explain to her that people were people, first of all, with all attendant virtues and vices, "good" or not, and that is why my Lutheran pastor uncle had an affair with a member of his congregation and later quit the clergy.
Same reason fine kids get kicked out of boarding school for their drug habits while assholes go on to the Ivy League. Same reason good doctors get cancer and die. Which is to say, of course, no good reason at all.
I remember the morning of 2002 July 19. I remember the clothes I was wearing, even. And other details. Which I shall not go into. I remember feeling the crush of responsibility of having to play father-figure to Ben (which never really happened in the end, due to my extended absences) at age 16 and wondering why it all had to happen to me. Same reason of course. We deserve our fates as much as we deserve anyone else's fates, as much as anyone else deserves our own; which is to say, of course, not at all. We deserve nothing, and thus may choose anything. Anything that is within the bounds of possibility, of course. Bounds which we may not choose. Contradiction is a spiral.
Chinese folk tradition is ancestral worship; the belief is that deceased predecessors are guardian spirits. I remember once, very soon after dad died, mom told Ben and I to pray to dad. Familial rituals, once again. I remember what I asked: "to be helped to always do the right thing." And so it's been, doing the right thing, sometimes to the extent of a total lack of sympathy, whether for myself or for others. And sometimes forsaking the good things for the right things.
I asked something else last night: to be kept on the path of right things, but be rid of the attendant solitude. I don't know if that's like asking a carriage to drive itself without a horse. Perhaps. But I hope not.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
If Children Were Wishes
So.
Second half of summer officially begins. Two months now since class ended. Somehow doesn't have as much an impact on me as these things usually do--milestones, landmarks etc. Am I really losing my sensitivity? I mean, that's probably inevitable to a degree, but still.
Pitchfork wrapped up well. Last day, saw Menomena, Jamie Lidell, Sea & Cake, Stephen Malkmus (played Trigger Cut and In Her Mouth a Desert!), The Field, and Klaxons. First time really listening to Menomena; they were actually really good, funky and relatively tight.. Now I want to listen to their album. Lidell's act was pretty mad; man's definitely got the vocal loops down. Sea & Cake was possibly the perfect act to see on the main stage on an arid and baking hot day. Saw Of Montreal from a distance, but was more awed by how they could get so popular being so obnoxious than anything else. The Field was the one act I'd been waiting for all day; obviously, it was just going to be a Scandinavian dude with a Vaio doing a digitized DJ set, and it was, but I was surprised by how many people were there for the one minimal house act out of 3 days' worth of indie rock and hip-hop. It was a good set as far as dance parties go; I wasn't really expecting stage antics, anyway. Klaxons, just got shoved to the first row somehow and stayed there for the entire set trying not to get smashed by overenthusiastic bulky dudes to the left of me, and I don't even listen to them.
Worth it though. Well worth the $400 or so I spent for daily rides through Chicago's beatific skylines on the L train, waking up to Animal Collective while driving through middle-of-nowhere Indiana (first time I ever appreciated that band), Thurston Moore tape-deck trickery on "Providence," bombed-out looking frazzled-redhead girl from Alabama singing along to Fujiya & Miyagi through a toy voice-changer (yes we exchanged numbers, whatever that might mean to anyone), post-"Good Morning, Captain" Slint new song/jam, blackened sinuses from ubiquitous second-hand cigarette and joint smoke, re-reading Only Revolutions, breathing atmospheres of nothing but pure vaporized sweat in the hellish crush of B-stage, presumably wasted girls trying to crowd-surf at Girl Talk in short dresses (horrible idea), coconut curry on a tortilla (they ran out of rice), eavesdropping on preposterous 3-way discussions about spirituality, environmentalism, "Christopher Columbus was a pirate"--"It's all energy, man"--on the Greyhound back to Baltimore Sunday night, and spending three full days generally drifting deeper into an alternate universe where there's nothing to do all day but drink lots of water, get your face melted, and hang.
But now I'm back. Trying to reconnect. Now that the residue's burned off. Trying to regain some semblance of a lust for life. Some ability to interact with the world and people outside of my limited sphere of concern. Took $400, 4 days, and half the country just trying to make the spark reignite. I don't know if I've succeeded. It was all a blind break and a mad dash. As is the usual.
Writing this on the Thrushpad, whose hard drive quit on me again for a second time this morning. Those Solectron bastards just can't figure out how to fix something and send it back without it being worse off than it was before. Outsourcing tech support was a terrible move for Lenovo. Anyway. Backing up all important documents, Live sets, on the external, while formulating B-plan for buying a new laptop in case this one dies--which would be ridiculous, it's only been 2 years, but no more ridiculous I suppose than 2 consecutive repairs that questionably fixed some problems and definitely introduced new ones. I could fund it. I'd just have to sell my Music Man Sterling; a terrible sacrifice to be sure--it's one of the best instruments I've ever laid hands on--but justifiable now that I no longer play bass in a band and use a computer for almost all musical endeavors. The bass work I do now is nothing a used Mexican Jazz Bass couldn't assume, if after some modifications.
CD burner seems to work again though. Going to continue working on that summer mix. A mix by me tailor-made for lounging in the sun? Who would've thought it?
Second half of summer officially begins. Two months now since class ended. Somehow doesn't have as much an impact on me as these things usually do--milestones, landmarks etc. Am I really losing my sensitivity? I mean, that's probably inevitable to a degree, but still.
Pitchfork wrapped up well. Last day, saw Menomena, Jamie Lidell, Sea & Cake, Stephen Malkmus (played Trigger Cut and In Her Mouth a Desert!), The Field, and Klaxons. First time really listening to Menomena; they were actually really good, funky and relatively tight.. Now I want to listen to their album. Lidell's act was pretty mad; man's definitely got the vocal loops down. Sea & Cake was possibly the perfect act to see on the main stage on an arid and baking hot day. Saw Of Montreal from a distance, but was more awed by how they could get so popular being so obnoxious than anything else. The Field was the one act I'd been waiting for all day; obviously, it was just going to be a Scandinavian dude with a Vaio doing a digitized DJ set, and it was, but I was surprised by how many people were there for the one minimal house act out of 3 days' worth of indie rock and hip-hop. It was a good set as far as dance parties go; I wasn't really expecting stage antics, anyway. Klaxons, just got shoved to the first row somehow and stayed there for the entire set trying not to get smashed by overenthusiastic bulky dudes to the left of me, and I don't even listen to them.
Worth it though. Well worth the $400 or so I spent for daily rides through Chicago's beatific skylines on the L train, waking up to Animal Collective while driving through middle-of-nowhere Indiana (first time I ever appreciated that band), Thurston Moore tape-deck trickery on "Providence," bombed-out looking frazzled-redhead girl from Alabama singing along to Fujiya & Miyagi through a toy voice-changer (yes we exchanged numbers, whatever that might mean to anyone), post-"Good Morning, Captain" Slint new song/jam, blackened sinuses from ubiquitous second-hand cigarette and joint smoke, re-reading Only Revolutions, breathing atmospheres of nothing but pure vaporized sweat in the hellish crush of B-stage, presumably wasted girls trying to crowd-surf at Girl Talk in short dresses (horrible idea), coconut curry on a tortilla (they ran out of rice), eavesdropping on preposterous 3-way discussions about spirituality, environmentalism, "Christopher Columbus was a pirate"--"It's all energy, man"--on the Greyhound back to Baltimore Sunday night, and spending three full days generally drifting deeper into an alternate universe where there's nothing to do all day but drink lots of water, get your face melted, and hang.
But now I'm back. Trying to reconnect. Now that the residue's burned off. Trying to regain some semblance of a lust for life. Some ability to interact with the world and people outside of my limited sphere of concern. Took $400, 4 days, and half the country just trying to make the spark reignite. I don't know if I've succeeded. It was all a blind break and a mad dash. As is the usual.
Writing this on the Thrushpad, whose hard drive quit on me again for a second time this morning. Those Solectron bastards just can't figure out how to fix something and send it back without it being worse off than it was before. Outsourcing tech support was a terrible move for Lenovo. Anyway. Backing up all important documents, Live sets, on the external, while formulating B-plan for buying a new laptop in case this one dies--which would be ridiculous, it's only been 2 years, but no more ridiculous I suppose than 2 consecutive repairs that questionably fixed some problems and definitely introduced new ones. I could fund it. I'd just have to sell my Music Man Sterling; a terrible sacrifice to be sure--it's one of the best instruments I've ever laid hands on--but justifiable now that I no longer play bass in a band and use a computer for almost all musical endeavors. The bass work I do now is nothing a used Mexican Jazz Bass couldn't assume, if after some modifications.
CD burner seems to work again though. Going to continue working on that summer mix. A mix by me tailor-made for lounging in the sun? Who would've thought it?
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Slingshot
Chicago:
1. New(?) Slint song, or just a really good jam session, at the end of the Spiderland set.
2. Sonic Youth's Daydream Nation show was the best of the 3 Sonic Youth concerts I've seen so far. Phoned in "Providence" to Jessica. I feel like the entire reason I came here was for Friday night.
3. Met my Physiology TA's college roommate/Writing MFA, IFP TA/drummer friend Joe on the bus to Pittsburgh because of my Mogwai shirt. Had a 5.5hr conversation about everything from the shittiness of Protools (also the unavailability of cracked DAWs for Macs--making me rethink my plans of one day buying a MacBook Pro) to the arrogance of Writing undergrads (he said it, not me). Definitely a critical-minded and -mouthed person. Key quote: "If you think you know what you're doing, you've lost the plot a bit."
4. Met half-Egyptian, looks-all-white Sheri(sp?) dancing at the Fujiya & Miyagi set, who'd driven up from Alabama, where she was studying nursing, with four of her friends stuffed into an old 2-door Honda Accord with the Pitchfork symbol painted onto the rear windshield and camped out on the ground outside the park on Friday night. Wandered around with her for a while yesterday.
5. Racing on the highway between Pittsburgh and Cleveland with Maura.
6. Girl Talk sets are hard to breathe in.
Trying to pretend for a few days the previous few weeks never happened. It's going well so far. Going to see The Field tonight, but missed my chance to see Aleta & co. in Geneva (it would've taken 5 hours, and thus, more hours than I had between waking up and having to go to the show).
We'll see what I am when I return.
1. New(?) Slint song, or just a really good jam session, at the end of the Spiderland set.
2. Sonic Youth's Daydream Nation show was the best of the 3 Sonic Youth concerts I've seen so far. Phoned in "Providence" to Jessica. I feel like the entire reason I came here was for Friday night.
3. Met my Physiology TA's college roommate/Writing MFA, IFP TA/drummer friend Joe on the bus to Pittsburgh because of my Mogwai shirt. Had a 5.5hr conversation about everything from the shittiness of Protools (also the unavailability of cracked DAWs for Macs--making me rethink my plans of one day buying a MacBook Pro) to the arrogance of Writing undergrads (he said it, not me). Definitely a critical-minded and -mouthed person. Key quote: "If you think you know what you're doing, you've lost the plot a bit."
4. Met half-Egyptian, looks-all-white Sheri(sp?) dancing at the Fujiya & Miyagi set, who'd driven up from Alabama, where she was studying nursing, with four of her friends stuffed into an old 2-door Honda Accord with the Pitchfork symbol painted onto the rear windshield and camped out on the ground outside the park on Friday night. Wandered around with her for a while yesterday.
5. Racing on the highway between Pittsburgh and Cleveland with Maura.
6. Girl Talk sets are hard to breathe in.
Trying to pretend for a few days the previous few weeks never happened. It's going well so far. Going to see The Field tonight, but missed my chance to see Aleta & co. in Geneva (it would've taken 5 hours, and thus, more hours than I had between waking up and having to go to the show).
We'll see what I am when I return.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Into the Woods
Long day yesterday, going to be a long day today too. Hitting the road at some point to make my way toward Pittsburgh before continuing to Chicago for Pitchfork Music Festival tomorrow. Maybe Mike N. is driving. Maybe I'm taking the bus. I don't know. I've become somewhat dependent on plans. Or, as I related to Maura, a "complacent homebody." Ironic when I don't even have a home, not really. Also, my laptop is going back to the shop. I need that Firewire port.
Sid's right. This is no way to live. Tried to create some tranquility in my life by rejecting the influence of others--at least to a large extent--but ended up desolate instead. Logical conclusions are not necessarily answers or solutions; rationality preserves no one and salvages nothing.
Dude said I needed to let go of my disappointment and stop weighing everything against past experiences, and heaven knows he's probably right. Maybe that was what the drugged-out lunatic in the woods meant when he told me, "you don't know how to let it go" that foggy evening back in December. Almost wish that I could just forget all my past letdowns, because disappointment wasn't even the worst thing that came of them. But forgetfulness has never been one of my strong suits--therefore I suppose there's nothing to do but rail against the ever-mounting evidence that I shouldn't ever expect anything good.
I don't know what it will take to shake up my way of life once again. Maybe this impending road trip will do it. Maybe it won't. And either way, it seems hardly up to my conscious decision. I can't do anything about anything. That's not a very easy conclusion to swallow, especially for one such as I. Or maybe I've backslid and sidetracked even more than I realize now.
Maybe I've just not been paying attention, but you'd think I'd've realized it when things started turning this way; these things don't just happen overnight.
I have to leave now; I wish I could. Drop the things that never happened and proceed with empty hands. Feet be light; you'll never make it through all the coming years dragging all the past years.
Sid's right. This is no way to live. Tried to create some tranquility in my life by rejecting the influence of others--at least to a large extent--but ended up desolate instead. Logical conclusions are not necessarily answers or solutions; rationality preserves no one and salvages nothing.
Dude said I needed to let go of my disappointment and stop weighing everything against past experiences, and heaven knows he's probably right. Maybe that was what the drugged-out lunatic in the woods meant when he told me, "you don't know how to let it go" that foggy evening back in December. Almost wish that I could just forget all my past letdowns, because disappointment wasn't even the worst thing that came of them. But forgetfulness has never been one of my strong suits--therefore I suppose there's nothing to do but rail against the ever-mounting evidence that I shouldn't ever expect anything good.
I don't know what it will take to shake up my way of life once again. Maybe this impending road trip will do it. Maybe it won't. And either way, it seems hardly up to my conscious decision. I can't do anything about anything. That's not a very easy conclusion to swallow, especially for one such as I. Or maybe I've backslid and sidetracked even more than I realize now.
Maybe I've just not been paying attention, but you'd think I'd've realized it when things started turning this way; these things don't just happen overnight.
I have to leave now; I wish I could. Drop the things that never happened and proceed with empty hands. Feet be light; you'll never make it through all the coming years dragging all the past years.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Lost Tide
I've been away. Well, no. I've been right here. But I suppose I have drifted. In more ways than one, but the drifting always brings me back to here. What's there to prevent my acceptance of my current state of living as perpetual, except the very fear of perpetuation? Hell, even my concerns stagnate. I feel like I've answered all the questions I'll be able to answer for the foreseeable future. I've got nothing left to do but ask the ones that don't have answers.
A list:
Busted into the new ECE building in the new quad with Janani in the middle of the night and left whiteboard messages complimenting the workers on the new building.
Went to a moving-out party at Danielle's old apartment, met a girl named Christine who played bass, idolized Victor Wooten, and named her dog Ringo (after Starr), before wandering, with Miguel and Sterling, with Michelle Z. and housemates to their house, where we watched TV (personally, I fell asleep on the couch) until 6:30AM.
Later that day, after a bit of sleep, went down to upper Federal Hill to my old Cellular & Molecular Physiology TA, Zach's housewarming party. He and his girlfriend Mattie packed good beer, homemade ice cream, and other good eats. Most of the people there were Mattie's co-workers at O'Malley's campaign office, very recent-Georgetown-graduate-looking types. They made me a little less relaxed than I could've, but coincidentally Krishna, my TA from the ill-fated X-ray Crystallography class this past spring, was there, and we talked for a long while about science, culture shock, and other such things. She also gave me a lift home even though she lived in Mt. Vernon, which was kind of her. Before we left, Zach mentioned he might want to start a band now that he's done with coursework. Told him to keep me in mind. Since then, he's mentioned that he would like to start a "drum machine and loud guitar project, like Big Black"--what do you know, just a few of my favorite things.
The Verve reunite. With all original members.
Drove down to DC's Ft. Reno with Sterling to see Joe Lally and The Evens with Jess and Thom on the 2nd. Blasted Q & Not U all the way down. Ran into Parschalk and his friends, too. Was hoping for a surprise Fugazi performance--as were over half the people present, most likely--but it didn't happen. No matter. Joe Lally's set was Zen--quite literally so, on the last song--and Ian Mackaye had massive commanding presence in The Evens, even though they were only a baritone guitar/effected drums two-piece. Sure he lectured, sure he ordered the crowd around, sure he ranted about the government, but people sure as hell listened. Being on DC's home turf helped, I reckon. Later we went to Whole Foods, where a guy mistook me for the drummer from a Richmond band called Hot Lava--I had never heard of them until that day--while I was buying seafood gumbo. "Is he skinny and Asian, wears glasses?" I asked him. Blasted Bad Brains all the way back.
Went to see Thrushes and Monarch open for A Sunny Day in Glasgow at the Metro Gallery on the 3rd. It's an excellent new venue: Station north location, part art gallery, arching ceilings and classy lighting, glass windows facing Charles St. and the station. A lot of people were there: Anna C., Diamond, Sterling (the duo perennially without anything to do), Melissa, and her roommate Yana. Colin (ex-Snap Ending, current-Named Extinction) showed up too, to my surprise; I hadn't seen him in forever. It turned out not only did he know one of the sisters in Glasgow, his brother even dated the other one. So between Diamond, Colin and I we knew people from 3 of the 5 bands there. Not bad. Colin left early though, before I could actually ask him how he'd been the past few months. Seeing Monarch play "If Children Were Wishes" live for the second time somehow convinced me to buy their album. I suspect it's because that song is absolutely devastating in person. Thrushes destroyed as usual, the Gallery's open spaces lending an extra kick of natural reverb. Finally decided to tell Rachel to turn her bass amp up.
4th, stood around Miguel's kitchen, ate meat and drank beer. Sort of like we do every single time we get an excuse. I don't want to do that every gratuitous national holiday for the next two decades, though, so I suppose I'll have to come up with a better idea on my own sometime. Saw fireworks from faraway, through the hazy rain. Christine brought by a pie. There was a gumball in it.
One night I found myself sitting in the darkened, dilapidated Methodist church down St. Paul with about 10 other kids, none of whom I knew, all in chairs, armchairs and folding chairs and even a wheelchair, watching a one-man guitar-and-drum-machine act and an acoustic folk-punk act kill it while a French documentary about insects was projected silently onto a screen behind them, and a girl with arms full of tattoos twirled and danced in the middle of the room.
I sampled a couple of 5-second clips from a skipping British Sea Power album, reversed one, put them both through reverb patches, looped them for over seven minutes while feeding back the return tracks, added Conet Project samples, a sub-bass sinewave synth, and a looped sequence on a Mellotron-sounding plugin, and called it the phrase at the top of this entry.
Wandered into the bookstore one day and found a book titled God is Dead, by Ron Currie Jr. Read most of it in the store, decided to buy it, finished it sitting under a tree. World Wars waged between Postmodern Anthropologists and Evolutionary Psychologists, and so on.
Yuli called.
I'm oddly literal these days. Used to use more metaphors. Suppose I'm less motivated to try and find meaning when I'm less convinced there's meaning to be found. Suppose I'm less inclined to try and resolve things in my life when there's nothing to be resolved, or, no resolutions.
But then again, I always feel a little bit cold and indifferent at 2:30AM. Except on the really good and really bad days. I haven't had either in too long. I'll see if I still agree at a later point.
A list:
Busted into the new ECE building in the new quad with Janani in the middle of the night and left whiteboard messages complimenting the workers on the new building.
Went to a moving-out party at Danielle's old apartment, met a girl named Christine who played bass, idolized Victor Wooten, and named her dog Ringo (after Starr), before wandering, with Miguel and Sterling, with Michelle Z. and housemates to their house, where we watched TV (personally, I fell asleep on the couch) until 6:30AM.
Later that day, after a bit of sleep, went down to upper Federal Hill to my old Cellular & Molecular Physiology TA, Zach's housewarming party. He and his girlfriend Mattie packed good beer, homemade ice cream, and other good eats. Most of the people there were Mattie's co-workers at O'Malley's campaign office, very recent-Georgetown-graduate-looking types. They made me a little less relaxed than I could've, but coincidentally Krishna, my TA from the ill-fated X-ray Crystallography class this past spring, was there, and we talked for a long while about science, culture shock, and other such things. She also gave me a lift home even though she lived in Mt. Vernon, which was kind of her. Before we left, Zach mentioned he might want to start a band now that he's done with coursework. Told him to keep me in mind. Since then, he's mentioned that he would like to start a "drum machine and loud guitar project, like Big Black"--what do you know, just a few of my favorite things.
The Verve reunite. With all original members.
Drove down to DC's Ft. Reno with Sterling to see Joe Lally and The Evens with Jess and Thom on the 2nd. Blasted Q & Not U all the way down. Ran into Parschalk and his friends, too. Was hoping for a surprise Fugazi performance--as were over half the people present, most likely--but it didn't happen. No matter. Joe Lally's set was Zen--quite literally so, on the last song--and Ian Mackaye had massive commanding presence in The Evens, even though they were only a baritone guitar/effected drums two-piece. Sure he lectured, sure he ordered the crowd around, sure he ranted about the government, but people sure as hell listened. Being on DC's home turf helped, I reckon. Later we went to Whole Foods, where a guy mistook me for the drummer from a Richmond band called Hot Lava--I had never heard of them until that day--while I was buying seafood gumbo. "Is he skinny and Asian, wears glasses?" I asked him. Blasted Bad Brains all the way back.
Went to see Thrushes and Monarch open for A Sunny Day in Glasgow at the Metro Gallery on the 3rd. It's an excellent new venue: Station north location, part art gallery, arching ceilings and classy lighting, glass windows facing Charles St. and the station. A lot of people were there: Anna C., Diamond, Sterling (the duo perennially without anything to do), Melissa, and her roommate Yana. Colin (ex-Snap Ending, current-Named Extinction) showed up too, to my surprise; I hadn't seen him in forever. It turned out not only did he know one of the sisters in Glasgow, his brother even dated the other one. So between Diamond, Colin and I we knew people from 3 of the 5 bands there. Not bad. Colin left early though, before I could actually ask him how he'd been the past few months. Seeing Monarch play "If Children Were Wishes" live for the second time somehow convinced me to buy their album. I suspect it's because that song is absolutely devastating in person. Thrushes destroyed as usual, the Gallery's open spaces lending an extra kick of natural reverb. Finally decided to tell Rachel to turn her bass amp up.
4th, stood around Miguel's kitchen, ate meat and drank beer. Sort of like we do every single time we get an excuse. I don't want to do that every gratuitous national holiday for the next two decades, though, so I suppose I'll have to come up with a better idea on my own sometime. Saw fireworks from faraway, through the hazy rain. Christine brought by a pie. There was a gumball in it.
One night I found myself sitting in the darkened, dilapidated Methodist church down St. Paul with about 10 other kids, none of whom I knew, all in chairs, armchairs and folding chairs and even a wheelchair, watching a one-man guitar-and-drum-machine act and an acoustic folk-punk act kill it while a French documentary about insects was projected silently onto a screen behind them, and a girl with arms full of tattoos twirled and danced in the middle of the room.
I sampled a couple of 5-second clips from a skipping British Sea Power album, reversed one, put them both through reverb patches, looped them for over seven minutes while feeding back the return tracks, added Conet Project samples, a sub-bass sinewave synth, and a looped sequence on a Mellotron-sounding plugin, and called it the phrase at the top of this entry.
Wandered into the bookstore one day and found a book titled God is Dead, by Ron Currie Jr. Read most of it in the store, decided to buy it, finished it sitting under a tree. World Wars waged between Postmodern Anthropologists and Evolutionary Psychologists, and so on.
Yuli called.
I'm oddly literal these days. Used to use more metaphors. Suppose I'm less motivated to try and find meaning when I'm less convinced there's meaning to be found. Suppose I'm less inclined to try and resolve things in my life when there's nothing to be resolved, or, no resolutions.
But then again, I always feel a little bit cold and indifferent at 2:30AM. Except on the really good and really bad days. I haven't had either in too long. I'll see if I still agree at a later point.
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