Allow me, please, to be amiguous without consequences.
We all walk our own roads, that's apparent. We all attach ourselves to various, yet specific things. Some people will choose yellow, and other a deep shade of red. My road is the latter hue. It is beautiful in everything it is and lacks; runs deep and travels like a river. Encompassed, not bombarded, with substance: foliage, deep-rooted tree's-whether naturally, or self-induced, it is the same-libraries, several outlets not required to be taken, bridges, and bubbles. What I love best, is the course in undeviating, unrelenting toward something not very red at all.
Why, and how this is interesting to you, I don't know. Stop reading if it is. It won't stop.
What happens when an amazing, vibrant shade of Blue decides to run parallel....?
Monday, August 15, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
In the words of...
Gavin Rossdale, " I just wanna be myself." How wonderful it is to glimpse who you are. Several locations, arbitrary instances, and it can still happen.
There are so many people. SO many people, and I know we all need each other, and exist off one another's innovations, enthusiasm, and realism....but sometimes, while reveling in solitary moments in a random location, I just wanna be me.
We all need all of us, yes, but what about the individual! I've realized i'm a separate being. We are, by nature, creatures of companionship, and there has been no greater God-given gift than to hold someone's hand in life that I fully trust and love. Then there's me... Strip it all away, tear the world down, and you have you. We're surrounded by people who edify, love, and help us, but can those people purchase your personality? Can they qualify you for any amount of character? Carry you to salvation? In the end, beginning, and throughout...it's you. It's great to be able to be friends with yourself. To like yourself. I have a hard time with this, as i'm insanely critical of my appearance, performance, results, like most of us. And how narcisstic does this idea sound? I wish so badly that I could transfer my feelings once again, and not for narcisstic reasons, but because I want to share with you. I've expressed this yearning before, I'm sure.
The most amazing thing happened the other night in accordance with my previous statement. I was reading Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury and he said, "And isn't that what it's all about? To reach around and up through somebody's head, look through his eyes, see that damned-fool miracle, and say, 'Oh...so that's how you see it? I should remember that." I was astounded! I woke Colby up next to me to tell him that Bradbury had the same "love thought" as me! That if you want to know, love, share, gain insight to or for someone, jump behind their eyes. Literally. How do you perceive the contours of the valley? Just like taste buds literally taste things significantly differently from one person to the next, so does perceptions in images all around us! I juv it.
And, even now, as these words lay stringently upon the page before you, floating slowly to your consciousness, they won't register. They can't register. Not until this is something you've discovered in your own flipping way, in a random occurrence, with maybe nobody you know at all. All of us, certainly, need all of us. I wouldn't change that for a million epiphanies. But, realizing I am an individual and can soley function if I need to, helps me to more fully support those around me. If that adds up.
The opposite is true, as well. As in all things. It's hard to be your own friend because it's easier to come down on yourself; this makes sense because we're always "becoming", and to "become" we need to reflect and analyze. Instead of positively ingesting this information of errors, I know that I, personally, feel like someone just dinged my credit score. Perhaps a character flaw, or maybe instinctual. We all feel somewhat inclined to please those around us. Art Alexocas shares this opinion on self-criticism when he says, "I'm just plain sick again...tired of the sound of my own voice." Rightly, I get annoyed with what's pouring out of my mouth sometimes. It's like I've been talking so much that it turns into a message on an answering machine which nobody really invests time in. It's all an adequate depiction of a balance between what we want, who we want to be, and what's actually reflected in our morning mirrors. We can't become ourselves, or reach a point where we actually want to hang out with ourselves, without a bunch of crap to overcome. I remember all this with a simple slogan: Crap preceeds Good Stuff. Author Ray Bradbury complies with this statement, "If your boy is a poet, manure will be wild flowers to him. It is, after all, what manure is all about anyway." Crap-most literally in this sense-preceeds something beautiful.
Truth is, if we were ok with ourselves all the time, we would never become our own best friends, which again is not self-involved, but almost necessary to survive both emotionally and physically. We're faced with so many fires, and if we can't be strong in who we are, we'll burn. It's simple.
Be yourself. Find glimpses of who you are, and embrace those moments. Allow it to expand your compassion for those around you who may not know who they are and are struggling with any assortment of conflicts: religion, spirituality, marriage, school, divorce, health issues.... When we secure ourselves, we secure others. Much like the Savoir felt all the pains, so he could bear ours.
Man, and all this to rock n' roll at 8 a.m. Nice. Gonna be a good one!
There are so many people. SO many people, and I know we all need each other, and exist off one another's innovations, enthusiasm, and realism....but sometimes, while reveling in solitary moments in a random location, I just wanna be me.
We all need all of us, yes, but what about the individual! I've realized i'm a separate being. We are, by nature, creatures of companionship, and there has been no greater God-given gift than to hold someone's hand in life that I fully trust and love. Then there's me... Strip it all away, tear the world down, and you have you. We're surrounded by people who edify, love, and help us, but can those people purchase your personality? Can they qualify you for any amount of character? Carry you to salvation? In the end, beginning, and throughout...it's you. It's great to be able to be friends with yourself. To like yourself. I have a hard time with this, as i'm insanely critical of my appearance, performance, results, like most of us. And how narcisstic does this idea sound? I wish so badly that I could transfer my feelings once again, and not for narcisstic reasons, but because I want to share with you. I've expressed this yearning before, I'm sure.
The most amazing thing happened the other night in accordance with my previous statement. I was reading Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury and he said, "And isn't that what it's all about? To reach around and up through somebody's head, look through his eyes, see that damned-fool miracle, and say, 'Oh...so that's how you see it? I should remember that." I was astounded! I woke Colby up next to me to tell him that Bradbury had the same "love thought" as me! That if you want to know, love, share, gain insight to or for someone, jump behind their eyes. Literally. How do you perceive the contours of the valley? Just like taste buds literally taste things significantly differently from one person to the next, so does perceptions in images all around us! I juv it.
And, even now, as these words lay stringently upon the page before you, floating slowly to your consciousness, they won't register. They can't register. Not until this is something you've discovered in your own flipping way, in a random occurrence, with maybe nobody you know at all. All of us, certainly, need all of us. I wouldn't change that for a million epiphanies. But, realizing I am an individual and can soley function if I need to, helps me to more fully support those around me. If that adds up.
The opposite is true, as well. As in all things. It's hard to be your own friend because it's easier to come down on yourself; this makes sense because we're always "becoming", and to "become" we need to reflect and analyze. Instead of positively ingesting this information of errors, I know that I, personally, feel like someone just dinged my credit score. Perhaps a character flaw, or maybe instinctual. We all feel somewhat inclined to please those around us. Art Alexocas shares this opinion on self-criticism when he says, "I'm just plain sick again...tired of the sound of my own voice." Rightly, I get annoyed with what's pouring out of my mouth sometimes. It's like I've been talking so much that it turns into a message on an answering machine which nobody really invests time in. It's all an adequate depiction of a balance between what we want, who we want to be, and what's actually reflected in our morning mirrors. We can't become ourselves, or reach a point where we actually want to hang out with ourselves, without a bunch of crap to overcome. I remember all this with a simple slogan: Crap preceeds Good Stuff. Author Ray Bradbury complies with this statement, "If your boy is a poet, manure will be wild flowers to him. It is, after all, what manure is all about anyway." Crap-most literally in this sense-preceeds something beautiful.
Truth is, if we were ok with ourselves all the time, we would never become our own best friends, which again is not self-involved, but almost necessary to survive both emotionally and physically. We're faced with so many fires, and if we can't be strong in who we are, we'll burn. It's simple.
Be yourself. Find glimpses of who you are, and embrace those moments. Allow it to expand your compassion for those around you who may not know who they are and are struggling with any assortment of conflicts: religion, spirituality, marriage, school, divorce, health issues.... When we secure ourselves, we secure others. Much like the Savoir felt all the pains, so he could bear ours.
This isn't meant to be a lonely gesture, it's just an observation. A most welcomed observation. Detach yourself. Feel who you are for a few minutes. It may come with music, or cooking, or finding a short cut. Companioship is priority and preferable, but, when I glimpse the solitary me...I love it, too. Not as much. But we gotta love it a little, man. Enough to reach some level of self-actualization.
It's not easy. Nothing is. Well, standing still isn't so hard.
Last thought: "Bees do have a smell, you know. If they don't, they should, for their feet are dusted with the scent of a thousand flowers." Ray Bradbury.Man, and all this to rock n' roll at 8 a.m. Nice. Gonna be a good one!
Saturday, July 30, 2011
For just one day?
If we could do anything, anywhere for a day..... Hmmm.... Ok, I got it. It may take a few more 24-hour installments. Ok, we road trip to Maine firstly. Rent a killer boat about the size of a small room and pack a heavy amount of goodies in all the secret crevices. I'm talkin serious amounts of chocolate donuts, soda, candy, and french fries. Next, we'll head to some quaint, cliche fishing store which we both fall in love with immediately. Mostly because the guy behind the counter has no idea he runs a fishing store, and wears a bright orange hat that aptly reads, "Gone Fishin'". You peruse the store and acquire all the correct equipment for deep-sea fishing. I aimlessly pick up random things that I think will enhance our adventure which include, but are not limited to: 3 ring-pops, a Jim Croce album, thimbles-because they're fun to say-, and purple energy drinks. We approach the innoculate cashier/owner/cool-guy, he runs through the monetary motions, and finally says, "You be sure to wear a raincoat." To which we reply, "We would love to not forget to wear our raincoats, but there's no rain, and no raincoats available." He gets confused and ignores us in every way possible. I leave a tip.
We're off the coast, choppy waves, catching swordfish. We can't stop throwing up from all the commotion and formerly ingested sugar. I quickly realize I don't know how to fish, and you're on your own. I'm laughing at you hysterically because you're doubled-over in stomach pains but still able to catch fish. The image is astounding and by all accounts impossible, but you're determined and know you'll want to eat fish later. I'm sad because I didn't get to say, "We're gonna need a bigger boat!" and we head back to shore hahaha with one small fish that we named "swordfish". hahaha yiiiiiikes!
It starts to rain.
We regret not taking store-guy seriously.
He was right.
He was also extremely high.
Instead of wasting a good rain, we take the opposite approach and take off all unnecessary clothing and begin to dance. it's freezing, and Swordfish is fidgeting with each rain drop trying to survive. The sun comes out, threatening the rain and the rain says, "Let's hang out for a bit." The sun complies and apologizes for trying to dominate the sky. Consequently, two rainbows appear. We decide to investigate the source of said rainbows, and catch any of your leprachaun buddies in the process of planting fake gold, but find nothing except a unicorn that reprimands us for finding it and tells us to get out of there. We start to poke it in hopes that it will ooze magic, but it just gets pissed and runs away cursing at us in the process.
We decide to take a more mild approach and dive for lobsters instead. We capture a bunch, but Swordfish gets jealous so we leave them all where we found them.
We're starving, half-naked, and freezing. We hit up a steak house down the street, and they kick us out for our immodest clothing. We asked for a raincoat, but they didn't want to give us any if they had them. I run to the kitchen and grab as much food as I can while you create the diversion of a mad man who can't find his intelligence. You see me rounding the corner and finish the gesture with dunking Swordfish in the pitcher of a water at a table compiled of men in suits with signs that read, "we can probably send you to court, and the Clam Chowder is delicious." We meet up, quickly divvy our provisions for an agile escape, and book it.
We hear sirens.
It stops raining, we find our clothes, get in our car and drive out of town like nothing at all happened. We see the cops, stop them, and tell them we heard a bunch of commotion at the local steak house and are put-off by the disturbances. They apologize and encourage us to visit again. We set fire to the Welcome to Maine sign and hit the open road. You drive first because I call "not it." As you drive, I read aloud from John Updike's "Rabbit Run", and we listen to the Velvet Underground, Silver Jews, and Jim Morrison. Swordfish loves the tumult of the road, and smiles.
We're off the coast, choppy waves, catching swordfish. We can't stop throwing up from all the commotion and formerly ingested sugar. I quickly realize I don't know how to fish, and you're on your own. I'm laughing at you hysterically because you're doubled-over in stomach pains but still able to catch fish. The image is astounding and by all accounts impossible, but you're determined and know you'll want to eat fish later. I'm sad because I didn't get to say, "We're gonna need a bigger boat!" and we head back to shore hahaha with one small fish that we named "swordfish". hahaha yiiiiiikes!
It starts to rain.
We regret not taking store-guy seriously.
He was right.
He was also extremely high.
Instead of wasting a good rain, we take the opposite approach and take off all unnecessary clothing and begin to dance. it's freezing, and Swordfish is fidgeting with each rain drop trying to survive. The sun comes out, threatening the rain and the rain says, "Let's hang out for a bit." The sun complies and apologizes for trying to dominate the sky. Consequently, two rainbows appear. We decide to investigate the source of said rainbows, and catch any of your leprachaun buddies in the process of planting fake gold, but find nothing except a unicorn that reprimands us for finding it and tells us to get out of there. We start to poke it in hopes that it will ooze magic, but it just gets pissed and runs away cursing at us in the process.
We decide to take a more mild approach and dive for lobsters instead. We capture a bunch, but Swordfish gets jealous so we leave them all where we found them.
We're starving, half-naked, and freezing. We hit up a steak house down the street, and they kick us out for our immodest clothing. We asked for a raincoat, but they didn't want to give us any if they had them. I run to the kitchen and grab as much food as I can while you create the diversion of a mad man who can't find his intelligence. You see me rounding the corner and finish the gesture with dunking Swordfish in the pitcher of a water at a table compiled of men in suits with signs that read, "we can probably send you to court, and the Clam Chowder is delicious." We meet up, quickly divvy our provisions for an agile escape, and book it.
We hear sirens.
It stops raining, we find our clothes, get in our car and drive out of town like nothing at all happened. We see the cops, stop them, and tell them we heard a bunch of commotion at the local steak house and are put-off by the disturbances. They apologize and encourage us to visit again. We set fire to the Welcome to Maine sign and hit the open road. You drive first because I call "not it." As you drive, I read aloud from John Updike's "Rabbit Run", and we listen to the Velvet Underground, Silver Jews, and Jim Morrison. Swordfish loves the tumult of the road, and smiles.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
I mean, what?
I came to work this morning to a slew of emails that were in response to my apparent emails to them. I didn't email ANYBODY in the office yesterday. Years later, I discovered the KKK in the next cubicle had gotten onto my computer and sent out prank emails and phone calls to various peeps. Out of retaliation, the following is my response to her (KKK=kaitlynn.)
Kaitlynn,
You sent that as a joke, but I mean it from my heart. My cold, dark heart. Also, I forgot my wedding ring in my gym stupid bag and now I’m sad. Also, there’s a bad accident on university parkway, so be careful. Also, I made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies last night and had three and forgot to bring the rest to work where I would probably eat three more but it’s ok because I’m as sore as a building. A building! Also, I had a wonderful sleep filled with dreams of Colby diggin’ this other chick. Also, he told me last night that he wants to live in the middle east for two years. I told him, “Hey, I’d like to live with unicorns on magic flowers for two years but I just don’t think it’s gonna happen”. Then, I realized that I really want a caffeine free coke because the taste is so good. Uh-oh, just got tired. Better make that a caffeinated coke. With some of your straw berries. Maybe I just want that for two years. And to bake in a large kitchen with easy clean-up. When we gonna chill with Jayci again? That was kickin’. Also…. What else….
I’m trying to make you regret prank emailing and calling from my desk.
Is it working?
Let’s ditch work, go running, go tanning, get a smoothie from jamba, and talk about the better times hahaha
Better yet, we’ll invent a time machine. A CMS time machine, and travel back to 1993, buy a crappy convertible and drive to Seattle. We’ll arrive with windswept hair, empty boxes of chocolate dunford donuts, three cans of soda, silly string, easy cheese (no crackers), real I.D.’s (wait, I’ll be seven and you’ll be five. Does the time machine keep us the same age???) Then we’ll hit the local pizza joint, which is to die for, make fun of the hobo’s on EVERY CORNER, visit the farmer’s market and make a delicious dinner at a friend’s house. We will make friends at the pizza place, and the market. A good combination of stoners, and hippie’s. Then we’ll tour the city, and meet a guy named Jimmy Hendricks who is 6 feet tall and pale. We’ll tell him how ironic it is that he’s standing outside the largest museum of rock n’ roll music in the world. He’ll backhand us. We’ll apologize like good little biyatches and respect him enough to excuse ourselves.
After that, since Canada is so close, we will toilet paper them. Toilet paper Canada. It sounds like a lot of TP, but I think only 6 people actually live there, so it’ll be a direct hit n’ run.
After that, we’ll discuss all our qualms and iron them out. Such as, at this point I’m sick of the fact that you refuse to shower and keep farting in the car and not rolling down the window. I’m fed up with it because you think it’s so funny. Hysterical. I don’t appreciate you going to as many Maverick’s as you can just to get the loaded nachos because you know they give you hellacious gas. It’s not funny! And you can tell me that all my self-loathing is getting old and to shut my trap before you shut it for me. Which you would probably be able to do by forcing me to evacuate a 20 mile radius of your incessant, smelly methane release.
After that, we’ll meet Elton John at an outside mall and ask if he wants to eat a cinnamon roll with us in the food court. To which he will presumably reply that he prefers a cinnaMAN, not a cinnamon roll. Oh snap! Then Sean Connery comes out of the bathroom and backhands Elton for being such a homo. I’m filming it all on my phone, we post it on youtube and make millions.
We then travel back to today, buy real cars, real houses (in California on the beach), buy pretentious dogs and I’ll make food the rest of my life and entertain creatively while you….um….counsel all the criminals at the county jail on how Jesus wants them to be sunbeams, not sundowners (a motorcycle club, and the only reason I know that is because my father n’ law left his wife and newly adopted daughter to join them….aww….now you made me sad, but it’s ok because we still have the time machine. We can go back when we’re sad. The opposite of the movie “Click” with adam stupid sandler).
Man, when the flip are you gonna get here! I’m running out of strength to pursue all this frivolity.
Peace.
I thought it would get on her nerves, but she just laughed outrageously long.
Word.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Happy Father's Day?
I'm pretty sure Father's Day falls on a Sunday...I think it's the rule. But I swear I heard that the 18th was Father's Day, which is today. I'm not sure I know what the universe is trying to say. I'm not sure the universe speaks. Is this real life!
So, since I'm not sure if it's The Day or not, Hallie and I wrote daddy a letter. This morning was a crazy one, mostly because when I got the in shower, Hallie thought she had to as well. Colby is at work, and I couldn't stop her. She took off her pijamas, after much crying and baby deiberation, went and got her toys and started to jump in. I yelled, "Take your diaper off first, sweetie!" She thought I was mad at her and started crying on the floor. So, against my better interest, I just got out of the shower as is and took of her diaper. Oh, except the universe forgot to tell me that she had poo'd and it all fell out onto the rug. Just to make the circumstance less cool, Hallie decided to step in it, hahaha. Whoa... At this point I'm pretty much dry, with a towel hapharzardly placed in my hair, trying to clean up the mess. I cleaned Hallie up, put the rug in the washer, and filled the tub up. After that, it was pretty much back to normal and we had a fun splashy time.
Oh, whoa, I forgot why I was prefacing this post with such a hurrican story. After I got Hallie ready, and I was finishing my hair, Hallie had some paperwork to do in Colby's end table. When she was done, we had to clean it up. What I had found was a bottle of Colby's cologne from High School... I had asked him to a Sadie's Hopkins dance against my better judgement (thanks hillary! you beautiful tyrant!) and while we were dancing to the stupid song, "Austin", by Blake stupid Shelton, I remember the way he smelt pretty vividly. Call me Anthony Hopkins if you want, but I can't help that I have the nose of a blood hound. Whoa.
Anyway, when I went home that night after all the awkward "do I kiss her? is he gonna kiss me? is my mom spying on me, and my dad pretending he owns a gun?" I was getting into my pijamas and I could smell Colby on my clothes. It made me smile, and immensely grateful for a best friend who knows what's best for me even when I don't.
One smell of that spilled cologne this morning brought all that warm nostalgia back to me, and I realized that our sweet moments aren't over. We've grown together over the last 7 years, and so has our love. It reminds me of a Bob Dylan song, "If Not For You..." Check it out, man. You'll appreciate your hunk even more.
Tell your spouse, father, grandpa, or any significant male authoritative figure in your life (if warranted), how much you appreciate them today. Or tomorrow. Whatever, do both days. And don't do it ingenuously, either; there are too many walking Hallmark cards. I suggest making him something. A photo album, a pie, a blanket...something that will remind him of your love and appreciation for him. Mother's keep the home-fires burning, but Father's provide the firewood.
Peace my lova's!
So, since I'm not sure if it's The Day or not, Hallie and I wrote daddy a letter. This morning was a crazy one, mostly because when I got the in shower, Hallie thought she had to as well. Colby is at work, and I couldn't stop her. She took off her pijamas, after much crying and baby deiberation, went and got her toys and started to jump in. I yelled, "Take your diaper off first, sweetie!" She thought I was mad at her and started crying on the floor. So, against my better interest, I just got out of the shower as is and took of her diaper. Oh, except the universe forgot to tell me that she had poo'd and it all fell out onto the rug. Just to make the circumstance less cool, Hallie decided to step in it, hahaha. Whoa... At this point I'm pretty much dry, with a towel hapharzardly placed in my hair, trying to clean up the mess. I cleaned Hallie up, put the rug in the washer, and filled the tub up. After that, it was pretty much back to normal and we had a fun splashy time.
Oh, whoa, I forgot why I was prefacing this post with such a hurrican story. After I got Hallie ready, and I was finishing my hair, Hallie had some paperwork to do in Colby's end table. When she was done, we had to clean it up. What I had found was a bottle of Colby's cologne from High School... I had asked him to a Sadie's Hopkins dance against my better judgement (thanks hillary! you beautiful tyrant!) and while we were dancing to the stupid song, "Austin", by Blake stupid Shelton, I remember the way he smelt pretty vividly. Call me Anthony Hopkins if you want, but I can't help that I have the nose of a blood hound. Whoa.
Anyway, when I went home that night after all the awkward "do I kiss her? is he gonna kiss me? is my mom spying on me, and my dad pretending he owns a gun?" I was getting into my pijamas and I could smell Colby on my clothes. It made me smile, and immensely grateful for a best friend who knows what's best for me even when I don't.
One smell of that spilled cologne this morning brought all that warm nostalgia back to me, and I realized that our sweet moments aren't over. We've grown together over the last 7 years, and so has our love. It reminds me of a Bob Dylan song, "If Not For You..." Check it out, man. You'll appreciate your hunk even more.
Tell your spouse, father, grandpa, or any significant male authoritative figure in your life (if warranted), how much you appreciate them today. Or tomorrow. Whatever, do both days. And don't do it ingenuously, either; there are too many walking Hallmark cards. I suggest making him something. A photo album, a pie, a blanket...something that will remind him of your love and appreciation for him. Mother's keep the home-fires burning, but Father's provide the firewood.
Peace my lova's!
Friday, June 17, 2011
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| Mom n' Me |
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| My supportive family! Love you! |
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| She finally likes sunglasses. |
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| She's so thoughtful |
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| Apparently doesn't like these flowers |
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| It wasn't me. I'm too cute for trouble. |
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| This is how mommy does it :) |
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| Dad ate my sandwich |
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| Owl Hoots and Nadia Silver |
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| So cute. |
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| Thighs like what, what, what |
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| she's smiling, because she's kicking the camera |
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| g'ma, grai, and ellis at festival |
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| g'ma hutch |
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| fishy cheeks! |
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| me n fam |
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| babies watching gabba |
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| Owl Hoots |
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| favorite pic of all time |
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Just a Tuesday morning
I apologize if I'm over-stepping my blogspot bounds of simply "updating" every time some actual event takes place in my life. Sometimes, I just wanna talk. This happens to be one of them.
You know how at certain times during the day you're your most thoughtful, day-dreaming you? The most focused. The most articulate about the most frivolous things? That's usually in the morning for me as soon as I sit at my desk and put on my tunes. I usually have zero work to do, which is not an element to be envious about, trust me. It's torture knowing I could be with my girl, or out doing something of productivity versus sitting here day in and day out for hours on end with NOTHING to do. Hey, thanks for hearing me out.
Anyway, Jakob Dylan, "Yeah, but you gotta give in. You gotta let go. Then you can rise up slow, like a desert horse." I'm unsure how a desert horse rises up slowly in comparison to a non-desrt horse. Perhaps he's referring to a race. Horses race, right? Point is, I wish I could raise up just a little more; a little more gracefully, maybe. "you don't gotta stand up tall, but baby you must stand up". What are your favorite lyrics? How much does music affect your mood? I'm a sucker for a song in A minor and C. They could be singing about babies in the sunshine in A minor and I'd still inevitably shroud myself in a bout of melancholy. I love it. I freakin' love that a combination of sounds can induce something in you not only emotionally, but physically. Think about at the gym: you gonna run better to Tequila Sunrise by the Eagles, or Cochise by Audioslave? Love it.
My favorite music to cook to is Ryan Adams, and Josh Ritter. Ok, confession? I prefer to listen to Josh Ritter whilst doing anything. He may be my personal lifetime soundtrack. That being said, every time I walk into a room, I wish the song "Coming Back to Life" by Pink Floyd (the part where all the happiness ensues, and everybody feels good about life) would play. Colby claims he wants a Brian Sezter song to play (some rockabilly artist-whom I think is obnoxious-dont' hate me, dear), but we all know he really either wants the theme of Star Wars, or Indiana Jones to play. If he's going for hero, he should know that he's mine and Hallie's hero everyday, baby.
Albums I recommend:
Ryan Adams-Cold Roses (disc 1 is a party, disc 2 is one you pop in for a drive).
Josh Ritter-all of them, but if you're gonna purchase one, get The Animal Years. When you do, plug your earphones in and take a solitary walk. I mean, Stephen King did it. It's gotta be cool. I mean scary. Just do it.
Jakob Dylan-Women and Country. I know everybody wants to claim they know the best music-and honestly we all truly feel that way because of our own interactions and associations with the artist or music-but there's a line of Good and a distinct line of Suck. This album falls under the Universal Good. You almost need it. This isn't necessarily a sedentary album. You gotta be doing something minimal so you can focus on it. There's SO many economonical references, and not the pushy political kind; the "hey, you gotta lend a helping hand" kind.
This ain't my first ride, it ain't my last ride, but I've got to keep movin' on.
Let me know your thoughts.
You know how at certain times during the day you're your most thoughtful, day-dreaming you? The most focused. The most articulate about the most frivolous things? That's usually in the morning for me as soon as I sit at my desk and put on my tunes. I usually have zero work to do, which is not an element to be envious about, trust me. It's torture knowing I could be with my girl, or out doing something of productivity versus sitting here day in and day out for hours on end with NOTHING to do. Hey, thanks for hearing me out.
Anyway, Jakob Dylan, "Yeah, but you gotta give in. You gotta let go. Then you can rise up slow, like a desert horse." I'm unsure how a desert horse rises up slowly in comparison to a non-desrt horse. Perhaps he's referring to a race. Horses race, right? Point is, I wish I could raise up just a little more; a little more gracefully, maybe. "you don't gotta stand up tall, but baby you must stand up". What are your favorite lyrics? How much does music affect your mood? I'm a sucker for a song in A minor and C. They could be singing about babies in the sunshine in A minor and I'd still inevitably shroud myself in a bout of melancholy. I love it. I freakin' love that a combination of sounds can induce something in you not only emotionally, but physically. Think about at the gym: you gonna run better to Tequila Sunrise by the Eagles, or Cochise by Audioslave? Love it.
My favorite music to cook to is Ryan Adams, and Josh Ritter. Ok, confession? I prefer to listen to Josh Ritter whilst doing anything. He may be my personal lifetime soundtrack. That being said, every time I walk into a room, I wish the song "Coming Back to Life" by Pink Floyd (the part where all the happiness ensues, and everybody feels good about life) would play. Colby claims he wants a Brian Sezter song to play (some rockabilly artist-whom I think is obnoxious-dont' hate me, dear), but we all know he really either wants the theme of Star Wars, or Indiana Jones to play. If he's going for hero, he should know that he's mine and Hallie's hero everyday, baby.
Albums I recommend:
Ryan Adams-Cold Roses (disc 1 is a party, disc 2 is one you pop in for a drive).
Josh Ritter-all of them, but if you're gonna purchase one, get The Animal Years. When you do, plug your earphones in and take a solitary walk. I mean, Stephen King did it. It's gotta be cool. I mean scary. Just do it.
Jakob Dylan-Women and Country. I know everybody wants to claim they know the best music-and honestly we all truly feel that way because of our own interactions and associations with the artist or music-but there's a line of Good and a distinct line of Suck. This album falls under the Universal Good. You almost need it. This isn't necessarily a sedentary album. You gotta be doing something minimal so you can focus on it. There's SO many economonical references, and not the pushy political kind; the "hey, you gotta lend a helping hand" kind.
This ain't my first ride, it ain't my last ride, but I've got to keep movin' on.
Let me know your thoughts.
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