Filed under: Music
I’m not going to numerically order these albums, I’ll leave that to others. Each of these albums is too close to my heart, too much tied to the last ten years of my life. I have also resisted using the term “best” because some people say that Green Day or Coldplay made the “best” album of the decade and I don’t want to be confused with those people. That’s icky. I will, however, spend some time describing my love for the twelve albums (ten is far too limited for a decade) that I found to be great and wonderful and magical during the past decade.
Ryan Adams – Heartbreaker
By the time Adams gets done arguing with David Rawlings and blazing through “To Be Young” and then gradually slowing into “Oh My Sweet Carolina”, I might be forsaking whatever responsibilities I might have in favor of listening to his tender expressions of love and life. Each track is wonderfully full, lyrically and musically. It’s gentle like your grandmother and brutal like your 8th grade P.E. teacher. I first heard this album in college and it was the backdrop to much of the YouMeAndDerekLee roadtrip with Jordan. We sang through country roads like Ryan would have wanted us to.
Over the Rhine – Ohio
There are few bands in the world that mean as much to me as Over the Rhine. Sometimes they help me breathe, sometimes they help me walk my dogs. My family has this slight obsession with Over the Rhine. As soon as I introduced my mother and wife to Over the Rhine it bordered on clinical. I’ve seen them play four times in four cities, two states and four different venues. The last time was an intimate show I set-up for Fuller and it felt like I was giving 250 of my peers and friends and family a gift worth unwrapping. Such class, such brilliance, such heartache. I love Good Dog, Bad Dog, but that was done in 1996, and I love Drunkard’s Prayer, but it is Ohio that reminds me of discovering one of my favorite bands of all time. The opening piano reminds me of moving into my first apartment with Nikki, of pouring glasses of wine for comfort and of exchanging looks only exchanged during the first year of marriage. The double-disc is a wonderfully visual tribute to their home state and I understand their deeply held feelings for their home, they place that they know and the place that knows them. Sign up for their email list and Linford will deliver an email full of beautifully crafted wordplay every so often.
M.I.A. – Arular
I know Kala is all the rage and it is an excellent album, but Arular was my first introduction to the Sri Lankan visual-artist-fashionista-political-activist turned international pop star. One of the things I most love about M.I.A. is her vision of the world that leaks into her music. Overwhelmingly optimistic, while incredibly grounded in reality, her songs inspire dancing and bright colors and smiles. She is making music for the technological and global, the generation that is immersed in the internets and cares about the fate of their peers around the world. Her performance at the Grammy’s cemented my respect. Her song “Paper Planes” has been remixed more times than can be counted, but it was TI’s version “Swagga Like Us” that took center-stage. A sort of rap supergroup performed (TI, Kanye, Jay-Z, lil’ Wayne), but it was M.I.A.’s song from the very beginning. Despite the bravado, energy and passion the hip hop gods showed, it was the 9-month pregnant M.I.A. that captivated the audience. Her sexuality and her gender and her music are paving the way for a new type of female pop star and post-feminists everywhere have a musical model.
Cold War Kids – Robbers and Cowards
I fully expect the Cold War Kids to continue to make killer soul-rock well into the next decade. I could see them making a record that is as good as Robbers and Cowards, but I have hard time seeing anyone make a record that is much better. Robbers and Cowards is a playfully serious romp through folk tales of depth and breadth. Themes and lyrical delivery vary, but the passion and restrained exuberance does not. Each and every track is good and can stand alone, but the record builds and sways with meaning and talent. The soul-bluesy-rock movement is far from over, but when lead singer Nathan Willett croons about “old Saint John” over the stripped down and creative rhythm section it hits its stride. I can’t say enough about this album. Certain songs have elicited sing-alongs at parties, shows and long drives. I played this album on drives to Shafter and Fresno, during bike rides around LA, and at every house party I’ve ever hosted. I distinctly remember playing the EP that was released before the actual album loudly in an empty gym at Hartland summer camp. My closest friends and I danced our hearts out and sung our lungs out to an empty gym while 300 children prepared for recreation. It is one of my favorite memories.
Bon Iver – For Emma, Forever Ago
I have this weird thing with placing too recent an album on a list like this, but Bon Iver made a near-perfect album. Ever since I got my hands on this folksy, woodsy, beardy album I’ve been listening to new sounds and new tracks and new nonsensical lyrics. A very physical and yet ethereal album, full of longing and hope and loss. Justin Vernon has proven he is no one-hit-wonder with his follow up EP, Blood Bank, and his work with Volcano Choir. But, this album plays with my heart each and every listen. Several tracks from the album are on my “most played” iTunes list and it was the album I listened to the most in 2008. I’m pretty sure it helped most of my friends through Finals during the Winter and Spring quarter down at Fuller. It’s good. It’s freaking good. It can sit with you during a quiet night at home or scream with you in the car. It recalls specific memories of cold and foggy Pasadena mornings, visiting coffee shops, camping on the beach, and some of my best friends in the world. This album will forever be associated with friends that mean the world to me and my time at Fuller, which is why when Justin’s perfectly epic falsetto sings “seminary soul” on Creature Fear I gasp with the beauty of the moment. In a year when beards and gentle voices and flannel ruled (2008 – Horse Feathers, Blind Pilot, Fleet Foxes), Bon Iver transcended the fad and made an album that has made me rethink and re-imagine my last decade.
Wilco – Yankee Foxtrot Hotel
Wilco could do no wrong on this album. The layered guitars, the simple lyrics, the authentic rabbit holes followed to great effect… it just works. If I were forced to label some of the “best” albums of the decade this would be up there. Probably top three. I loved listening to it on windy mountain roads, Tweedy breaking my heart like he was trying to. Or, in my headphones on a walk in the city, imagining the American flags I walk by turning to ashes. Or, gently humming Jesus, etc. while studying theology (specifically, reading about Christology). The dissonance and aural assault is as pleasing as it comes. This is an album that will continue to yield influence.
Radiohead – In Rainbows
I know, I know… everyone’s nod to Radiohead this decade is Kid A, the breakthrough electronic album that changed music forever. I get it, the album is great. But, In Rainbows was more important for me this decade. It came when I was starting to heavily read Derrida, Lacan and Zizek. My philosophical journey was rapidly accelerating into (and beyond) the postmodern, my theological journey was increasingly unraveling and materializing in less and less traditional ways. I listened to the dissonance and digital influence and assumed it was the record for the times. Consumerism, technology, digital relationships, apocalyptic justification, this album had it all. As I formulated thoughts on consumer society and the emerging digital life, Thom Yorke influenced me as much as McLuhan or Taylor or Zizek. Radiohead continues to push creative envelopes, make meaningful music and influence the world around them in the process.
Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavillion
Another recent album, this album is my favorite album of 2009 (a year full of good music). The avant-leaning Brooklyn boys got it together for this accessible album full of danceable jams. I really liked Feels, but MPP is one of those albums that sticks with me. I will always remember finding out Nikki was carrying a baby girl and turning up “My Girls” and singing every blessed word on the way home. Such a conflicted and timely song, built on weaving echoes, grown-up dreams, and synth-fueled energy, the song gets me every time. Another fantastic album that confronts the modern world with questions like, “am I really all the things that are outside of me?” and “do you want to go stroll down the financial street?” this album bleeds the colors of the times. Instant classic. The release at 2:31 of “In the Flowers” borders on orgasmic and could bring the dead back to life. This record should be listened to on the first sunny day when the world makes so much sense.
Eminem – The Marshall Mathers LP
Not the best hip hop album of the decade, but my favorite. This is Eminem at his best: fluidly cynical, scathingly self-loathing, and cockily heartfelt. Such an honest expose on the life of an angry and confused individual fighting celebrity, this album reached new heights lyrically. Eminem’s beats have never been breathtaking, but the jungle gym he creates and then plays all over with his mouth can stop traffic. This album came out when teenage angst was ebbing and flowing in my house. It helped to vocalize the anger, confusion and unease the turn of the century produced. Eminem’s fire is palatable in each song, drowning his hurt with rhymes and vocal turns that are some of the best the hip hop world has seen. His ocean of lyrical ability knows no low-tide (on this album…). Accused of senseless violence and gratuitous tendencies, sure, but Eminem also nuances his approach enough to carefully consider what he says. The way he says things, though, is the reason to listen to the album again and again.
Sigur Ros – ( )
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The first Sigur Ros album I ever heard was Agaetis Byrjun. I was hooked. It was the most amazing thing I had ever heard. But, alas, Agaetis Byrjun was made in 1999, so their follow-up album ( ) goes on the list. In the same way, that Ohio represented Over the Rhine on this list, ( ) stands as a nod to the greatness that is Sigur Ros. This album is full of the made-up language Hoplandic that the band is known for; don’t understand the lyrics? You don’t need to! The experience that Sigur Ros creates with their breathtaking layers of noise and ambient touches can break any toughened heart. In fact, in the face of the irony of the early parts of this decade, Sigur Ros made unapologetically sincere music, creating places to feel and not laugh, to long and not want. This unrelenting focus on a vision epic in scope, yet intimate in presentation, is what makes them one of the most compelling bands of our generation. The videos that accompany “Hoppipolla”, “Glosoli” and “Svefn-G-Englar” and other standout tracks from the Sigur Ros catalogue are some of my favorite music videos ever made. Sweeping, feeling, playful, meaningful, the music of Sigur Ros must be experienced and known.
The Arcade Fire – Funeral
Another album that I would place on my “best of” list if I were forced to, Funeral encourages me to wax eloquent. This album is big: thematically, instrumentally. The frantic and exquisite live-show The Arcade Fire puts on only cements their importance. This family band turns death and loss into noisy ballads of beauty and simple grace; they turn Canadian community (the band lives together in an old church) into music that moodily swings from deperate and anxious lows to raucous and exultant highs. Very few first full-length albums sound as unified, epic yet nuanced as Funeral; it is a triumph of all of the good things in music. When I first heard “Wake Up” (long before the days of Where the Wild Things Are), I was struck by the simple and honest paradox. Incredibly uplifting and optimistic melody, a winning feeling is in the air on this track, is paired with bracingly skeptical lyrics. The Arcade Fire shows that the distinction between negative and positive is often false; that, all too often, the open, willing and trusting will take the form of the closed, hurt and scared. The discovery that, “we’re just a million little gods causing rain storms, turnin’ every good thing to rust… I guess we’ll just have to adjust” becomes a freeing moment, it is huge that we are so small. The human experience, well expressed.
Sufjan Stevens – Come On and Feel the Illinois
This album has played such a prominent role in my life that I’m not sure where to start. I was happily excited about the release of a new Sufjan album (Michigan is nice, Seven Swans changed my life), but assumed it couldn’t exceed expectations. His songwriting was obviously changing as he traded the stripped-down gospel folk of Seven Swans for the orchestration of Michigan. His transformation continued as he releases Illinoise and all of its layers, multi-instrument tracks and Sufjanian touches (trademark banjo and swelling horns). This album begs for superlatives. 22 songs brimming with creative spirit (emphasis on both creative and spirit) and a follow-up album (The Avalanche) with 21 unreleased songs and differing versions of the hit “Chicago.” Sufjan deftly moves from an intimate exposé of a mass murder, to a hugely ornate road trip ballad, to the folk tale of a childhood friend with cancer. His mad-genius lyrics are both poetry and prose in the best way possible. Narrative-based stories of America, or more specifically Illinois, the songs delicately expose the beauty and depravity of everyday life, the strengths of the Americana we know exists somewhere. I have listened to this album for inspiration, for encouragement, for reminders, for fun, for tears, for faith. This album deeply moves me like few can, this is an album so accessible, yet so diligent in providing an artistic vision uncompromised by the commercial success.
Filed under: Generational Defense (or, Age Ain't Nothing But a Number)
After a stirringly compassionate and informative presentation on the demographics of our student populous, that included the psychological reality of externalizing failure (after you have failed so often you expect to fail, then as a defense you blame someone/something else) and the place it plays in our students psyches, an older instructor asked if that was mostly generational. She was wondering if these “young kids” (20-30) are more likely to make excuses and blame others. Actually, she wasn’t wondering, she was accusing. It was interesting; 25 people in the room and the fascilitator (whom I greatly respect) immediately met my eye. I almost answered for him.
He gently and graciously explained that most of the generational characteristics of the people she was describing are bound up in optimism and a “go-get-em” attitude and that for the most part poverty was one of the deciding factors when it comes to dealing with failure. (Side note: he was incredibly thoughtful and allowed space for the system of cyclical poverty to receive blame, he was not simply saying poor people or minorities blame others.) He also smirked and said that some of the people in the room fall into the generation she was referring to and that, clearly, they would not fall into her delineations.
Here is the thing: when she attempted to locate the concept of externalizing failure within a specific generation, she was, in fact, externalizing her own failure as a teacher. Teachers are, in fact, (partially) responsible for student success and through her words and actions, it is clear she has struggled with students from a certain demographic (in this case, age) and by assuming that they always externalize failure she has let herself off of the hook (externalized failure).
I have no doubt that she is a good teacher and I’m not trying to disparage her, in any way. My hope is twofold: 1) to expose false and dangerous generational assumptions and 2) to encourage excellence in the workplace. So this begins a new series about age and generational difference and power. Stay tuned.
I’ve been cooling my jets. Letting last week’s incident sink in and then out. Such an interesting connection to be made: gender and diet.
It is unfortunate that our dangerous addiction to meat has been declared a “man thing”. We hear it all the time: He’s a meat and potatoes guy, guys BBQ, just watch one Carl’s ridiculous commercials.
In fact, that’s a good place to start. Carl’s Jr has been making stupid-ass commercials for a few years now. At first, more conservatively-minded folk objected to the overt sexuality of their commercials aimed at straight males without brains and now barely a finger is lifted when the grossly oversimplified caricature of masculinity is paraded around in front of (relatively) cheap imitations of an unhealthy and barbarically prepared “all-american burger”.
These commercials are the most obvious pop-culture connection between the deeply flawed understanding of masculinity and the false promise of red meat and fast food.
Before I go further, I should mention that I am aware of my involvement. We are all complicit in this mess, hypocrisy abounds and we have to navigate our own tensions. The system will choke you out; it has a strangle hold on our agency (or does it?). So, judgement is given with a grain of salt and a package or two of ketchup, so to speak.
It is all too easy to recognize the obscene claims that Carls Jr is making about men and what it means to be a man. From scantily clad celebs, to cars, to messy burgers, at the absolute least, we should readily acknowledge the caricature, the falsehood. Of course, not every man like women, of course not every man like lame women rolling around on a soapy car, of course not every man likes to wear his burger, of course not every man can afford burgers, of course not every man has nice biceps or cares to, of course not every man fits so easily into this bullshit understanding that must come with having a penis.
But, I am suggesting something further. The stable sexuality promoted is just as much a lie as the burger being sold. See, the burger that you buy won’t look like the burger pictured. I guarantee no famous female is going to watch you scarfing down that burger and then run over to grant your every wish (the implied message, of course). The idealized “man” is adventurous and our natural spaces are being threatened by the mass production of these grimy slices of heart attack fodder. I know, I know, it’s advertising, but the point is that this meat is not some sort of abstract idea void of connectivity or source, but a once living animal and viable part of our eco-system, the lie is based on lifestyle and source and stability, like the burger (and sexuality) is not somehow derivative. It most definitely is.
It is not simply that this commercial is exploiting a small slice of masculinity and ignoring the rest. That is part of the story. The real problem is that we assume that there exists some center of meaning for gender. I have yet to find this magical place of pure maleness of femaleness. Certainly there are biological differences, but gender seems more tricky: always conditioned, always mediated, always situated.
Our dietary habits are also conditioned, mediated and situated. So, we all eat bacon because it runs slower than us and because God made it with meat. And, men eat bacon in dangerously copious amounts because we do. End of story.
Threatening one of these constructs comes with consequences; threatening both might be too much for the weak of heart. But, ignoring the nature of our experiences and realities is too costly a mistake. The bizarre need to defend one version of gender or diet is evidence enough that some secret is being protected at all costs, some dark secret we should start telling our neighbors and ourselves.
My first time back in awhile. Put on your seatbelts. Commencing rant.
Sitting in a faculty meeting today, the leader of the meeting (read: boss) was defending the use of clicker technology in classrooms. Basically, use remotes (students and instructors) to increase interaction in classrooms. Good idea.
Then, she stated, “this might sound sexist,” to which I thought to myself “good reason to not say what you’re going to say.” She continued on, explaining that male students love the idea of having a battery-operated remote in their hand, that they learn better with the classroom resembling a living room where they are channel surfing. The fifteen or so instructors chuckled (men included) at the remark. Yeah, good one. Let’s all laugh at a joke meant to say guys are basically dumb-asses, that the idea of having a remote is fucking inherent to our identity as a man. I didn’t laugh.
Then, with the response overwhelmingly positive, she continued, “that and bacon. There must be something about the Y chromosome that includes liking remotes and bacon.” Insert numerous personal stories about husbands and bacon or personal male testimonials about putting bacon on everything. Nice. So, men are dumb-asses who are defined by their desire for an unhealthy meat that they apply to everything that goes into their mouths while they consume entertainment from their television sets.
A friend commented (jokingly) that he puts bacon on bacon. Fair enough. I said “gross” audibly. I guess that was my mistake. When a group of people all agree, if you think different you should probably just agree even if you don’t agree. Immediately 15 pairs of eyes were on me, the new guy, first time ever speaking in a meeting. “You don’t like bacon?” as if they should check between my legs.
“Well, I am a vegetarian.”
There was a strange moment of confused silence.
(What, a vegetarian? What does he eat? Is he a man? But, he seemed so normal, so cool, so man-ish?)
I did not make any value judgments. I didn’t even say the reason(s) for my dietary choice. The meeting moved on… for about 90 seconds.
The group quickly returned to the topic. Anecdotes about meat (God wouldn’t have made animals with meat on them if he hadn’t wanted us to eat them! Really? We should be talking about God in this professional setting, you’re probably right. Especially because the people in the room with theology degrees know and eat meat… oh wait, that’s me) and jokes about vegetarians ensued. I was silent.
Until the third or fourth joke (why are we talking about this? Don’t we have things that pertain to our job to discuss?), when I acted.
“If we weren’t supposed to eat animals, they would be faster!” Good logic, we usually do eat animals we can catch in a foot race like Elephants, Black Mamba snakes, Spiders and Sloths. Nor, do we ever eat animals that would beat us in a 100-yard dash, such as, Rabbits, Deer or Sheep.
Then I mumbled (too loudly), “Some humans are slow.” The laughter, which had been rolling along nicely for a few minutes with some momentum kept up, until what I said sunk in and abruptly stopped. Everyone looked at me like a creep. I never know when to call people on ignorance or not, but now I looked like a cannibal (which I’m not because I don’t eat meat).
The meeting then moved on, but I did not. I was pretty fucking pissed. Yeah! Let’s all laugh at the guy that’s different from us! Let’s all feel better about eating ourselves into a heart attack! Hooray! Faculty meetings are such fun!
End rant.
Commence critical thinking.
Why in the world is it okay to assign gender roles based on diet? This happens more than we realize, probably. Maybe I’m being too sensitive, but most of my old friends from Fresno look at me with an odd expression and then make a derogatory comment when they find out about my dietary choice. It is about gender for many people. Men eat meat (and, apparently, can’t control themselves around a nice looking female, love to have a remote control in their hand, drive trucks, scratch and enjoy football just because).
Why does the (known) presence of a vegetarian demand defense of carnivorous habits? I made no ethical or practical or health claims. I simply stated I was a vegetarian. And, the room full of carnivores responded with jokes and defenses mechanisms as if I had attacked their very way of life.
The most basic question: Why did we need to discuss these matters at work? But, that I won’t expand upon.
I will be further interacting with these thoughts and questions this weekend. If you don’t like reading about gender (which seems to be one of my favorite topics, recently), then tune in next week when I (maybe) talk about something different. No. Nevermind. Keep reading. Better yet, comment!!!
One of the biggest reasons given was the original TNIV’s gender inclusive approach that had altered the grammar of many passages to include sisters, daughters and other (female) left out people groups.
Clearly, there is a great theological discussion to be had on personhood, equality, gender of God, etc., but my focus here is on the grammatical argument. The idea that these changes have made reading hard, obtuse and that the structure is now “wrong” according to the rules of language fails to truly interact with the reality of our gendered experience.
I’ve been reading Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble recently. An excellent little work that has nothing to do with biblical translation, but has a very powerful passage in the forward about language, grammar and gender.
She says, “moreover, neither grammar nor style are politically neutral… there is nothing radical about common sense. It would be a mistake to think that received grammar is the best vehicle for expressing radical views, given the constraints that grammar imposes upon thought, indeed, upon the thinkable itself” (xix). Her point is clear; if a thought, idea or text is radical it might, indeed must, mess with our common sense and break the rules. It seems that there are few Christians who would argue the radical nature of their precious Scriptures, so why neuter the message by constraining it to the rules of the English language, which is so clearly limited?
Butler continues, “formulations that twist grammar or that implicitly call into question the subject-verb requirements of propositional sense are clearly irritating for some. They produce more work for their readers, and sometimes their readers are offended by such demands. Are those who are offended making a legitimate request for “plain speaking” or does their complaint emerge from a consumer expectation of intellectual life?” (italics mine). To understand the point in our present circumstance: are those offended by the apparent literary heresy of the grammatical formulations of equality found in the TNIV really concerned with easy reading or are their interests in something much more perverse, the preservation of sexist orders and attitudes? Using gender inclusive language should be a given, should it not? Personally, I see women everywhere I go and I refer to them as such, not as brothers and fathers and men. Let me remind you, we are not talking about pronouns for God, but for the community of believers.
She goes on to remind us of Richard Nixon’s “perfectly clear” lie and levels questions at the idea of clarity: “Who devises the protocols of “clarity” and whose interests do they serve? What is foreclosed by the insistence on parochial standards of transparency as requisite for all communication? What does “transparency” keep obscure?”
In this case, the “transparency” is keeping a deeply held fear or dismissal (or both) of women obscure. For some reason the Evangelical tradition still does not widely ordain women and now the TNIV is reverting back to ignoring their existence in (some of) the biblical text. When understood in the large scope this is deeply disturbing.
This critique is incredibly pressing for the Christian community, will we continue to be known for archaic ways of thinking and speaking about one another? Or will we allow the true radical nature of the life of Jesus to trump, maybe someday transform, our language rules and embrace ways of loving others better?
When news broke earlier this week, most of my friends from Fuller (the largest Evangelical Seminary in the world) were incredibly disappointed. I am not promoting some crazy liberal agenda, this is a reasonable understanding of modern life and the Bible. The change the TNIV has announced is the continued support of a dangerous patriarchal order that undermines the message of peace, hope and love that Christians claim to live and preach.
I happen to like grammar; I use (mostly) correct grammar in my writing and speech. But, a revolution of the mind starts with our language and we must heed Butler’s call to seek radical texts that are beyond the rules of language.
We can only hope that President Obama would tell the kiddos about Marx and Engels like all the crazies seem to think he would.
Then, the children would know better than to make the stupid, ignorant remarks about Obama being a socialist. The students would then know better than the Governor of Florida, most FOX talking heads, and other morons the inner workings of a legitimate philosophic and economic system worth reading.
But, instead he stuck to “stay in school.” That guy, always so edgy and progressive.
I don’t think I was ready. It had only been two hours, isn’t there a longer waiting period? I mean, she was brand new. Brand New.
We waited until the others had gone. We were crashing the family’s party, welcome guests, but guests nonetheless. The room resembled a waiting room, but the air felt like a party. Someone had brought cookies. I ate two.
In the nervous anticipation, Jack talked about politics and religion. He couldn’t be asked to hide his excitement, and he likes talking to me about taboo subjects. It was appropriate, after all, she needs a better world like we do. We were welcoming her and we might as well brainstorm a few ideas to make this place a little better.
Jake’s bearded face, tired, gave instructions. He’s good at that. You might as well do something you’re good at when it’s two in the morning. We followed his orders, leaving out the “yes sir.”
When it was our turn, we made our way down the corridors, turning right and then left. Nurses joked at the station, I thought of things to say, things I never said. Jake’s beard revealed a sly grin as he opened the door to reveal his two girls. One was neatly wrapped in a blanket, a new human of minute proportions. The other was ragged from giving life, in great spirits and suddenly more experienced on this earth than anyone else in the room. Her disheveled bed-clothes were rumpled and covering the war zone, but the perfect little girl in her arms was peaceful, happy, alive.
When Violet was first brought to her mother, she was crying. As Kathleen reached out to take her she said “Violet” in a way only a mother can, Violet stopped crying immediately and accepted her mother’s arms without fuss. Kathleen is a mother.
Jake watched the procedure and greeted his daughter with a beard. Good man. Violet later let Jake clean up her dirty diapers. Jake is a father.
I had to pry Violet from Nikki’s arms; I wanted my chance. I confirmed that she was perfect as I looked into her eyes and watched her gnaw on her hands. The contrast between the starkly sanitized room full of instruments and the breathing bundle in my arm was striking. Do we need all of these tools to bring life from life? Violet’s knit hat fell off and esoteric questions gave way to the practical. The hat was replaced, her thick, dark hair hidden from view. The white flakes stood out against her brown skin, her dark eyes seemingly endless.
I’m hoping she remembers me, I was wearing my maroon corduroy pants. I whispered my name in her ear. I think my chances are good. Welcome, Violet Ruth, welcome.
I have been immensely enjoying the Elephant Journal recently. Their cheeky, socially-minded hippie ways get me every time. I’m amazed at their commitment and also often amused at their delivery. It’s worth checking out.
Also, my good friend Justin, is something like a blogging superstar. He has been accumulating links from the interwebs for our browsing purposes almost everyday. He is heading to D.C. to work with Sojourners and will likely be the first Asian-American president. Seriously, though, you should check him out, he’s destined to be awesome.
Other things I happen to love right now:
That it’s almost Fall
Running, yoga and other physical activities
Being in the same town as my family
That someday soon I will be gainfully employed
That I will soon have a little friend named Violet
That within a week I will know the gender of my first offspring
Falling asleep to the sound of an Ent meeting
Josh Ritter’s The Golden Age of Radio album
My recent success at the game Dutch Blitz
The Ramona Falls album
That I will be seeing Bon Iver live in a graveyard at sunrise with some of the world’s best people
Positive is as positive does.
Filed under: Life in the Valley
This is a group blog.
C.J. and Jordan and Me.
Here we are. Well, we aren’t all here, Jordan is outside with a smoke. That’s probably best. Smoking, while bad for your lungs, is good for your funniness. Just ask Jon Stewart.
C.J. is researching Mark Driscoll in order to mock and then cry because people actually listen to that frat boy and his dangerous rhetoric.
Where is here? Echo Street Coffee. The finest coffee establishment in this good-coffee-starved town, to my knowledge.
C.J. say something to the people.
“It’s good to be in Burbank Johnny” (with hands raised signaling a touchdown)
Great, now this is just getting silly.
Jordan has joined us.
Jordan say something to the people
“Toes on the noes, bros.”
What type of dog should CJ get and name Princeton and put in his newly purchased yard (house included)?
A Corgi? No.
Jordan wants to be a hairless Venezuelan canine of some sort.
CJ: Jordan, how is you domestication coming?
Jordan: Oh, great. Mac n Cheese, I also clean, do laundry and sometimes dust.
Jordan: How insane is Mr. Bolt for breaking his own world record?
Wait for it…
Jordan: USAIN!!!
Tim: (apparently not getting the joke) He is though.
Jordan: Other-worldly.
CJ: Sing it Bright Eyes, sing it.
Tim: It’s not Bright Eyes that’s singing
Jordan: Conor Oberst
Jordan: It’s all one man
Jordan: What do you think Jake and Kat’s baby is going to look like?
CJ: Armenian?
Tim: German?
CJ: She’ll probably grow into her limbs.
CJ: Jordan, do you know that you suck at Fantasy Baseball
Jordan: It’s an off year.
CJ: It’s an off year
Tim: Are we really talking about Fantasy Baseball?
Tim” I had to say that because I typed that I said that.
Filed under: Life in the Valley
I had breakfast with an old friend yesterday. It felt better than most meals. Gentle tugs at my heart, my mind never compromised. He’s a hell of a guy. He guzzled green tea and I sipped black coffee. It was terrible, but the company was worth it. It didn’t make me feel like flying, it made me feel like walking, securely in the realm of this earth, my place.
Floating down the Kings River has become one of my favorite past times. It’s cheap, free except the beer. It’s gentle, it’s relaxing, it’s a nice temperature. Sometimes we float by folks who are inclined to yell pleasantries like “show your tits” or “are you gay”. I respond with chants of “education” or “testosterone”. If I come back with a bloody nose one day, you’ll know why. Mostly, I don’t yell, I soak up the laughs and find quiet places to breathe. Delirium sets in and Jordan’s parents make us dinner for our trouble.
Driving my in-laws up the coast this weekend. I’ll take the wheel unless Nikki feels sick. When I reach for my sweater I’ll think of you. You’ll probably be sweating. The fresh air is probably good for the baby, I’ll ask Nikki to breath more than normal, to stash some clean oxygen for later. Can’t wait to play some sweet tunes for my in-laws. If we talk politics, I’ll probably concede. I always do. Nikki never does, God bless her.
Visited a camp I love. I love it; it sits close to my heart, getting nudged with each pump. It still fails. It always will. The camp, not my heart. It is a miserable sexist, manipulative, nearly-racist mess that I can’t get out of my system. My sisters were there. I felt protective. Not because of the high school boys with their bad haircuts, changing voices and hormonal impulses. But, because of the middle-aged, moustached man that thought he knew everything. He was the speaker. He wasn’t connecting. He loved hell and that he isn’t going and that some people are. He doesn’t know. He says he wrote a Seminary paper on hell, so he knows things. I thought “I write seminary papers.” Maybe I know. I don’t think I do. I told my sisters they don’t have to agree. They didn’t.
Gonna get some culture tonight. Bike Hop. It’s Art Hop but on your bike. I’ll know one person and then I’ll know many. That’s how this stuff works. Since the move I haven’t found my helmet. I’ll be careful.
