My Sounds

I have been reading a lot of "Best of 2008" lists at work and I have decided to talk about my favorite albums of 2008.  In no particular order...

Bayside "Shudder"

Copeland "You Are My Sunshine"

Lovedrug "The Sucker Punch Show"

Mansions "Mansions"

These are really the albums that blew me away this year, that actually came out this year.  My favorite among all of these is probably Mansions.  

I really test albums these days for how they sound on the train.  I feel that in general the train really lends itself to a softer sound to accompany the sways and jerks, but certainly there are louder albums that really work well on the train.  My favorite albums to listen to on the train are...

Bright Eyes "Digital Ash In A Digital Urn"

Rocky Votolato "Suicide Medicine"

Johnny Cash "American IV: The Man Comes Around"

The Movielife "Forty Hour Train Back To Penn"

The Get-Up Kids "On A Wire"

I think that walking around the city requires a different sort of sountrack.  I usually need something louder to drown out the cabbies, and street noise.  

Bayside "The Walking Wounded"

Brand New "The Devil And God Are Raging Inside Me"

The Honorary Title "Anything Else But The Truth"

Cursive "The Ugly Organ"

Copeland "In Motion"

From here I would like to move on to my hands down top albums of all time.  I certainly don't listen to these all the time, but I can always relate to these albums.

Blink-182 "Enema of the State"

Park "It Won't Snow Where You're Going"

The Get-Up Kids "Something To Write Home About"

Bright Eyes "Lifted, or The Story Is In The Soil So Keep Your Ear To The Ground"

American Football "American Football"

I wouldn't necessarily say that these five bands are my favorite bands of all time, but oftentimes they are, but I cite these for a very specific reason.  Blink got me into everything I listen to and I will always love that band. Park redefined how I felt about music.  The Get-Up Kids provided me with a differnt point of musical view.  Bright Eyes blew my mind, and American Football was a sleeper album that I bought and didn't listen to until two years later, but once I did, and once I got it I never stopped.  

Music is everything to me.  

Working Towards A Day

I have been trying on an adult suit as of late, 

though I still can't seem to shake  

that little boy need to loosen his tie, 

wrinkle his shirt, and

 dirty up his face.

Oddly enough I am actually hoping to avoid having to wear a suit to work, I am also trying to avoid wearing an apron,Teflon covered shirt, and non-slip shoes.  

When I quit my job at Mimi's Cafe in Loveland, Colorado I quit it with the thought in the back of my head that it would be the last serving job I would ever have.  In an effort to not be a complete leech on my family I have found yet another serving job to supplement income during the course of my internship.  Four days a week I make the trek on the J train to a pizza joint at South Street Seaport.  It feels odd to go there.  I don't feel as if I am necessarily a part of a larger group there.  I feel that there is the group of servers who have nicknamed me Harry Potter, and then there is me.  I mean I certainly don't intend on keeping this position for a very long time, but it would nice at the very least to feel included in the group.  I will admit that I don't make a huge effort, and maybe that is based on my fears.  When I moved to New York I moved here in an effort to start a career, and it was under the guise of being afraid that I might become stuck in Colorado.  When I moved to New York I felt fairly confident that I would find a position quite quickly at a company of my choosing.  Certainly this was naive. I told my parents, myself, and my girlfriend that I would find a part-time job, one that I cared little about, to keep myself busy, and keep money flowing in while I found a career.  I meant what I said, as I have certainly shown with my present position, but I never thought I would actually have to commit to the position.  I guess I just assumed I wouldn't have to make that decision.  Rather than an internship (which I am extremely grateful for, and love quite a bit)  I would find myself in a lower-level position within the industry of my choosing attempting to work my way up.  

Alas, this is not how life has panned out.  Maybe God is trying to test my resolve in my life's choices, or maybe there is some concept that is staring me in the face, but I keep ignoring it....I am not sure which of these might be true.  I do know that I have a good feeling about the future. It is just the present that is weighing me down.

My Friend Is Getting Married

Towards the end of October my best friend is getting married. A long time ago, before college, before most of high-school, and certainly before I moved to New York, we made a pact that each would be the others best man. He has kept up his end of the deal, and I am expected to be the best man in his wedding. This is my first time being in a wedding that didn't have me being either the ring bearer, or in the bridal party. Yes, I was in fact my sister's bridesman....you try to make it sound manly and either way there are images of me in a dress conjured up. Anyway, I really thought that the best man planned a party with some booze and some sort of fun activity. I knew there was something about a toast in there, and something about holding onto rings, but honestly not much else.

Through some internet research I realized that there is in fact a lot more to do.  The most important thing on this list was signing my name as witness to the marriage, or at least according to the research I found I was supposed to do this action.  The point is, I have graduated into adult territory, and this small and relatively insignifigant task is what drives that point home.  I am no longer simply signing for a pizza that I ordered from Two Boots, but I am completely and utterly witnessing my best friend cross a major threshold.  It is completely screwing with sense of perception.

My Life As Of Late

When I was a kid I had a book that I got from a book sale at my church. It was a book filled with a picturesque, postcard ideal of New York City. I would sit in my room for hours at a time staring at that book picturing my adult life. I don't remember exactly what my occupation was in those childhood ideals, but I am sure that it wasn't a boring job. I was probably a crime fighter, or the Mayor of the city. I don't know if it was my love of Ninja Turtles or the fact that as a kid growing up in Sachse, Texas I wanted to grow up into something bigger than my little hometown could provide. I don't mean that to sound narcissistic, but I wanted a different life.

I am now a resident of New York City. The East Village. Alphabet City to be more specific. Please don't use the word fancy when referring to my neighborhood. I live in a gloriously small apartment with my girlfriend. I have an internship that pays me in free CD's and I love it. I work for a relatively large independent record label and honestly I cannot imagine a better group of people that care more about the bands that they are working with. Working there feels right in many ways, and has reinvigorated my dying sense that music can serve as savior.

That is my life right now. I still need a job that pays me money, but for now I think this is the right place for me.

I Spy

I have one week left of college. A Chemistry exam, a Psychology exam, a History exam, and a paper for film on how whether Lynch is an a genius or not does not matter; Eraserhead is still incomprehensible and has a lot of flaws that do nothing but detract from the overall "message" of the film. In other words, I am about two shakes away from my college diploma. I am as confused as I have ever been. I used to not think about the future because I never felt like I had one. Now, my future is perfectly real and perfectly unsettling. I know a few things which I have reiterated time and time again. In fact I think there just might be a recently deceased horse in the corner of my room which needs a good beating (thanks for the reference babe and frankly I am pretty sure you are my one and only reader).

Anyway...the point is that I have never felt more scared of the looming future...but the future isn't looming in a negative way, more of an uncertain way. I want everything to go well. I want to get a job I love, marry the girl I love, and have a really happy life. I realize those definitions will warp with time, but I really don't want to compromise. To paraphrase a certain young lady, " I would rather go down in flames attempting something I love than staying safe in a corner-office job I hate..." Essentially I would rather fail at something I love than do a job that is safe. So let's raise our glasses to failure and hope for the best.

It's Not The End, But It Can't Be That Far

Today is April 24th. I graduate in a mere 16 total days. I went around town asking about places to hold my/Kristi's graduation party. A joint party, more me riding on her coat-tails than anything celebratory on my own behalf. It really has not hit home. Sure I sent out announcements, sure I get things in the mail informing me about graduation, but I don't really feel like I have sixteen days left of my college career. I feel like I am getting ready for an awesome summer, but I don't know how it is going to feel to not come back next summer. Greeley has been my much ridiculed home for too long now. I am certainly ready to leave, but I don't know how to go about doing it. I feel like I should have a plan.

When I started college I filled out a four year plan, it was to help guide me through the frustrating process of registering for classes. Where is my year five plan? I got through the last four years, now I don't have anyone telling me what to do, where to go, what to write. I all of the sudden have to implement all of those tools I was supposed to be honing the past four years.

"They're waiting for clouds and storms, for safety." This is a line which seems to ring true to me, it is from the song "Anxious Arms," by The Jealous Sound. I guess I am waiting for something to happen. I realize that I have commented on this previously, but it is an ever-present feeling. I don't want safety though. It would be very easy to simply move to Denver, and rent an apartment downtown. I could work at some job I hate, and make some money; go out on the weekends. Many people would be very happy with this existence, maybe not the job they hate but the other parts.

The problem is that I want better things. I don't care if I am 30,000 dollars in debt, as long as I am happy. Money is not the issue, but doing something I care about is. Maybe that something is writing, but maybe I am not meant to be a writer. The problem is that if I am not supposed to write I don't know what I am supposed to do. I lack any other sort of general skill. I think Kristi might be right, maybe I should take my hand at writing about music. It would combine something I really enjoy doing with something I really know. I don't know how much time I waste scouring blogs and music websites in order to ascertain the silliest of information. Maybe I could pull an Almost Famous sort of thing where I get to tour with a band and write about it. Maybe I should write that Park book that four people would buy. Maybe I should just call Old Chicago and figure out where I am getting drunk graduation night.

22

IF THERE IS NO GOD

If there is no God,
Not everything is permitted to man.
He is still his brother's keeper
And he is not permitted to sadden his brother,
By saying there is no God.

-Czeslaw Milosz Second Space

I turn 22 on Tuesday. From 21 to 22, a lot happened, but I still feel like I am treading water. Maybe there is a more apt appropriation. I feel like I am standing on the edge of a diving board, but I don't know if I can swim. I can jump in and risk drowning, or I can just stand there and hope for the best. I've been standing on that diving board for 21 years. Sure I have made strides towards living a better and healthier life, most, if not all of those decisions were prompted towards hoping to spend as much time as possible with Kristi; I still feel like the same indecisive 18 year old I was when I started college. Each year I look back on my birthday from the year before and I feel like saying "Oh I was so young then." But in reality what I mean is that I was an idiot then. Each year I am able to shed some minuscule amount of idiotic outer being, but I still don't know how. I would like to be able to shed all idiotic elements out of my life, but I don't know if that is possible.

When I look at how I was and what I acted like at 18 I cannot fathom how I had people who would call themselves my friends. 19 was not much better. The best term can really to be applied to my late teens would be jerk. I am sure other people have choice words which are even more applicable. At 20 I was at my height of being a jerk, and for some reason the least likely person to take a shining to me actually did. I don't know if it was some sort of stereotypical girl wanting the "bad-guy," but I hardly gave her any reason to think of me as anything but the bad boy. But she has stuck around despite ALL of my shortcomings, to which I am infinitely indebted.

I had always had this facade that I had friends who cared about me, and that meant that I must be a good person at my core. This is pretty flawed logic, not only because most of my friends abandoned me but also because I am sure Hitler, the Devil, Grand Vizier Jafar, Dick Cheney, Barbara Walters all have/ had friends. The point is I have re-evaluated how I judge both myself, and who I surround myself with. Maybe that is the point of looking back on history; to notice problems that you faced throughout the year and adjust yours sights accordingly. I just hope I am not missing some sort of grand scheme that is going on under my nose. I'd like to believe that somewhere, deep down I am a good person.

I Used to Hate Peanuts

It is true. I hated peanuts of all forms. It does not matter which conglomeration of confectioneries might be combined in order to form something palatable. As the past tense of the title suggests, I no longer hate peanuts.

I was standing in line at Safeway today buying a box or three of Cracker Jack. I really only wanted one box, but alas they were in a three pack sort of situation. The lady at the check out counter asked me if they still come with prizes. I replied "I don't really know, I don't really eat Cracker Jack." Granted this might be a confusing statement to make when one is purchasing three boxes of Cracker Jack, but she replied with "Well I didn't really ask if you eat the things...I just wanted to know if they still come with prizes." A fair question to which I stated, "I know they used to come with temporary tattoos." I hoped this to end the conversation but the lady in line behind me replied, "You know what? I think they do come with prizes still." I could not consult the box because the checker had sent a bag boy with my boxes to be price checked. They were not ringing up, I said, "I believe they are $1.99." About five minutes later the bag boy comes back to inform me I was wrong, they were in fact $1.59.

I had hoped to move past this discussion when the lady in the line said. "So you gonna propose to your lady with those? Cause if that were the case it wouldn't even matter that you had some prize or not. Although you could use a ring in the box..." Granted, I am sure this would be a surprise to any girl who loves Cracker Jack, but not really my style. But what struck me was the tenacity with which she said it. My first supposition upon viewing someone purchase Cracker Jack would be, that man or woman likes popcorn with caramel and nuts. Maybe I just feel like a private person in face-to-face conversation, but I don't think I would ever ask such a question. Maybe I really am cut out for life in a large city. I don't want to talk to people in line at the supermarket, I want to get my food and get out. I don't care what the lady from Perkins, who bakes the Éclairs says about my Cracker Jack. I really do want to move out of Colorado, but only with a very special girl by my side. I may not have the money to propose to her yet, but I certainly won't be asking her with a plastic ring from a box of Cracker Jacks. For some reason that doesn't spell forever to me. It spells fourth grade.

A Hatchet Should Be Buried, But It's Easier To Keep It In The Light

My lovely girlfriend was getting ready to go to her friend's house earlier today. Her friend is living with a former friend of ours that I blame for a lot of things. Chiefly among one of the many things I blame her for is the fact that I no longer talk to one of my best friends. Obviously I have made the conscious decision to not forgive him or her. The blame only extends so far though. The truth of the matter is that she made decisions, my best friend made decisions and I made them as well. The problem is that I feel that I have subjugated my (former) best friend to such a feeling of guilt that he is unable to even fathom ever discussing anything again with me. Certainly this is conjecture but I can only assume this is the situation. If I am wrong I will certainly state it.

Kristi said something that really resonated with me though. I asked her if she thought it would be awkward to see our former friend. She replied something to the effect of that she was an adult and saw no reason to hold a grudge. She didn't want to search out our former friend to patch things up, but was not going to be ugly to her. This make sense but I don't think I could do that. Maybe I am a petty person, but while the wounds are over a year old they still sting. I feel like I was betrayed. I am sure there is a side to their story which I don't necessarily care to hear but I am sure it is there nonetheless. I just don't think I am big enough to forgive him, or her for that matter.

Every now and then I have dreams where we are friends. It is kind of a jarring feeling when I wake up and realize that it is not the case. I want to reach out and least patch things up. Or at the very least get his side of things. But ultimately I won't do that for several reasons. First off, I frankly don't want to get screwed over any more. Secondly, I really don't want to put my trust in something like that ever again. There is one person that stuck with me through everything. I really only trust that one person now. I don't really want to dwell on the past. I feel that if things are supposed to work out then they will. Maybe I am just not as big a person as my girlfriend. Maybe I can't see past the fact that someone I believed to be best friend screwed me over. Maybe this is all an excuse to not deal with issues. The fact is that I just don't want to put my trust is something faulty again. Kristi really has been amazing to me and I try not to burden her with any of this because she has a lot of other stuff to worry about. It is not like her life is stagnant and drama-free either. But ultimately I still think about this. I even called my former friend up one night when I had a few too many drinks at the bar. He answered and then I hung up. Extremely mature on my part. This is where I am at. I am almost twenty-two years old and I avoid confrontation like it's the plague. Maybe I will grow up one day and find out I didn't miss out on anything. Maybe I will grow up one day and realize that for all of the back-stabbing that has gone on in the past four years, everything worked out all right. I hope like hell the latter is true, but I have a feeling it is the former.

Ultimately I can say the ball is in his court. It isn't though, and I know that.

Pockets Full of Canons

"Cause it's not hard to fall, and I don't want to scare her. It's not hard to fall and I don't want to lose...It's not hard to grow, when you know that you just don't know." -Cannonball by Damien Rice.*

I feel that as an English major I have been force fed the canonical texts that I am "supposed" to enjoy. The problem with this is that literature, and the enjoyment of literature, is completely subjective. Certainly I can recognize that Richardson did remarkable things towards the narrative structure of the novel in Pamela, but that doesn't mean that I enjoyed the story of the peasant girl's rise to power. This is what I learned in college. There is usually a reason that texts are included in a canon, but that doesn't mean anything to me. I hate the Scarlet Letter and yet year after year I am told it is a great work of Antebellum American Literature. I don't really care if Shelly was too influenced by her eventual husband or Lord Byron. I do care however that the recent film adaptation of "Beowulf," was a completely bastardization of a canonical text. I guess my views on the sanctity of texts are simply based on whether or not I personally enjoyed them.

After almost four years of college one thing is certain. I don't know nearly as much as I thought I did when I adopted a new home in Greeley, Colorado. I was a cocky eighteen year old.** Although I think that my attitude towards the canon of literature has not changed nearly as much as I had assumed it would. Obviously there are texts that I enjoy, or at the very least can tolerate, that I most certainly would never have stomached at eighteen. While I still don't care for the vast amounts of whaling depictions in Moby Dick I can concede that it is an entertaining tale to say the very least.

I have noticed a change from the beginning of my college career to the near finish of it. I have taken college more seriously with each progressive year. I think this might have to do with the fact that in my Junior year I started dating my girlfriend who has a much stronger work ethic than I previously possessed. Let's just say that she has rubbed off on me in many ways that have caused positive changes in my demeanor.

I now find myself on the verge of starting life in the "real world." I have to somehow apply what I have learned into a cohesive plan of payment for services. As Damien Rice has suggested I don't know, and I know that for sure. I am ready for growth. But I don't want growth for the sake of growth. I want to enjoy it. I just want to make sure that everyone is on the same page before I turn it.


*Essentially this sums up the blog in two lines
**One can assume that almost every eighteen year old is cocky to at least some extent.

Goodbye Blue Monday

"One time he got to paint a message on a five-hundred-pound bomb which was to be dropped on Hamburg, Germany. This was it." -From Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut.


I'm taking my time for the first time in my life. Usually I rush into things. Every day I give myself a to-do list. If at the end of the day I have crossed off everything on my list I can go to sleep with a clear conscience. Sometimes I put things that I am in the middle of doing in order to be able to feel that joy of crossing something else off the list. The list started as a way to remember actual things that I needed to do. Sometimes it is as simple as "wash the coffee pot." This is something I do every morning, but if I write it down and I cross it off my list I feel like I have actually done something. It is somehow quantifiable, real. It is tactile proof that I accomplished something, no matter how small or completely insignificant. In large part though, my day is quite insignificant. I write stories that no one will ever read most likely, I live in my apartment alone and talk to about two people a day.

Obviously there are things that are carried over from day-to-day that never get accomplished. Some of these I am simply unsure as to how to proceed (this usually pertains towards the current story I am working on). Some of the things are just simply things that I cannot accomplish in a single day (this usually refers to my job search), obviously I can make progress on a day-to-day basis but until I apply, interview, and accept that job I cannot cross it off the list.

The one thing that I can't cross off the list is Kristi. I just never want to be done with her. There are things along the way that I can cross off. First kiss. Engagement, etc. But the ultimate goal is open ended. Even after we get married there is life after that. I like the openness of that. A lot of guys tell me that getting engaged or married is somehow a shackle, the whole "Ball and chain," mentality. But I look at it a lot differently. There are a lot of scary things coming up. Life in general scares the crap out of me, but knowing she is by my side helps a lot.

I guess everything being on my to-do list is a way to make the future less scary. By writing down each and every event I am able to somehow tackle the inevitable. It is the same way that Vonnegut describes the bomb. By writing "Goodbye Blue Monday," they were able to somehow name the indefinable. The bomb had serious repercussions that would have very real consequences for those below, but for those dropping the bomb they were able to cope by disqualifying the seriousness of the situation with a joke. Instead of writing "Goodbye Blue Monday," I write "Take out the trash," or "Clean apartment." I am taking those little steps towards the larger goal of life. It might go off like a 500 pound bomb, but at least I will have seen it coming.

A Conversation Overheard

I live in a very small apartment. I will take almost any excuse to leave my apartment for a few hours at a time. The exception to this rule of course is social situations. I tend to stay away from unknown social situations, because I am generally a person who enjoys my personal space. There are obvious exceptions to this rule which do not necessarily entail unknown social situations. I digress.

On this particular diversion from my claustrophobic quarters I went to Borders to peruse the magazines to look for a job. I decided after hearing David Quammen speak in one of my classes today that I might look into publishing in the field of magazines. I wanted to get a visual representation of what I should look for exactly. I spent an hour looking at magazines, and listening in on two different conversations between my own conversation with my friend’s fiancé that works as a barista at the coffee shop that is attached to the store. One of the conversations I was eavesdropping on was about dam building. I am not saying that dam building isn’t an interesting subject, but it was excruciatingly boring.

A man sat on a bench in the magazine section reading what appeared to be an automotive magazine. I heard his phone ring while I perused a copy of National Geographic. His ringtone appeared to be “Cherry Pie,” by Warrant. I assumed he either was dating a stripper and wanted a song that reminded him of her the first time he met her, or he had some odd affinity with an otherwise horrible song. From here on out I will refer to the man as Rick. This could, or could not be his name. It doesn’t really matter to me, but the pronouns seem a bit impersonal for the purposes of this writing.

After listening to most of “Cherry Pie,” Rick picked up his cell phone. The conversation started out nice enough. I did not dictate the actual conversation so here is what I remember; it is not a word, for word transcription, but pretty darn close. Some embellishments I am sure have been made because of my nature. “Hey babe. How are you? I had a mocha. Just reading about Chevy Big Blocks.” But quickly it turned into something rather different. I started hearing phrases thrown about like “Well when you get off work tonight I’ve got a big surprise for you.” My curiosity was naturally peaked because maybe she was getting a trip to Hawaii or something, which would be a pretty good surprise. My hopes of an island getaway for the young lady were soon dashed when he said something to the affect of “Yeah. Let’s just say I can’t talk about it right here. I might get in trouble.” Now my mind is racing towards thoughts of a murder plot, or a bank robbery. Both of which I would find as suitable entertainment substitutes for my rather dull, and boring day. Obviously had there actually been a murder plot I would have stepped in and garnered some sort of citizen’s bravery. Rick then went on to make suggestions that were not overtly sexual but seemed to have a sexual overtone in them. Things like “Yeah, I can imagine that right now,” or “Do you like it that way?” The conversation then took a turn towards the inevitable overtly sexual content.

I felt a little awkward, but I also felt like it was my right to listen to it, because it was in the public sphere. Rick had a friend who was waiting for him in the coffee shop that he joined immediately after his conversation with his stripper girlfriend ended. I can only assume that his friend was not allowed to be privy to this information but somehow total strangers were. I guess this makes sense; maybe his stripper girlfriend was actually the wife of the friend he was meeting for coffee in Borders? I felt like I had to wait out the conversation; I had to know where it was going. It was like waiting for the end of a roller coaster. When you are waiting in line you can see where the track goes and as you get closer you can estimate what the ride is going to be like, but you don’t really know. You have to take that leap, and wait out the line, and experience it for yourself. Often times it is disappointing, but in the end you accomplished something.

The roller coaster is not only an apt metaphor for this odd conversation I had overheard but I think it holds true to my own life. I want to be a writer but often times my stories evoke something grand when I think them up in my head, or even when I am able to coerce the story to a piece of paper every now and then, but in the end I keep just wishing I had looked for a real job instead. Not because I don’t enjoy writing, but rather, that I think there are people who have done it a lot better than I have. Maybe I just need to wait out the conversations, or the stories; even if they’re uncomfortable and wait for the right thing to come along. I hope that I can peruse the magazines again and find my job waiting for me the way this awkward conversation seemed to inevitably be waiting for me, but I think it is not that easy. I will have to work, and work hard. Hopefully it will pan out and the hard work will pay off, but I won’t know unless I wait it out.