Monday, December 22, 2008
Now, however, I'm going to enjoy my time . . . listen to some great music . . . drink and eat the delights of French-Canada . . . and sleep peacefully in the wonderfully plush bed here at the inn.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
In other news, I've shopped to my fill. I picked up all these old books on philosophical theory . . . plus, a little fiction (in French) . . . you know, a little bit of Henri Bergson, Andre Gide, Denis Diderot, Gustave Flaubert. I think when I finally finish travelling for the holidays, I am going to hole up at home with all my literature and read for days.
Well, I'm off now . . . I'm going to pick up lunch at the cafe down the street from the inn I'm staying in. Writing makes me hungry . . . or maybe I was hungry to begin with? Either way, I'm going to enjoy these few days of self and introspection before I meet up with John and all of his relatives next Saturday.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Ah! I got a new haircut today! It was getting a little long . . . and hard to deal with. So cut-cut. Of course now I can't pull it up into a mop on the back on head when I'm tired . . . but I guess I'll deal.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
What Do You Know About the Soils of Your Region? Or More Importantly, What Don't You Know About Them?
Monday, December 8, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
The Blue Room: It Not Only Hosts Jazz on the Weekends, But Also Provides Ample Ground For Me to Splay My "Work."
Friday, December 5, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Alas! I feel like a posting wizard today . . . I just keep writing and writing and writing. Obviously, from the title, you can see this post is about Tortoise, of whom I hold a special place in my heart. I first listened to Tortoise . . . well, many years ago . . . like seven years ago, actually. I was still an undergraduate at Northwestern University . . . and my then roommate and friend, Will, and I had embarked on a trip over the winter holidays, because neither of us had anywhere to go for the break . . . and for some reason we decidedly put our minds and money towards a road trip from Chicago all the way to Arizona (don’t ask me why . . . maybe for the warmth).
The whole way driving there in my old Volvo Wagon, through the snow and ice and sleet, we listened to Tortoise. It just fit that mood, you know, for going on an adventure with just a road map and an automobile to get you wherever on the map you wanted. Personally, I had only started listening to them because of their association with The Sea and Cake, which at the time I listened to nonstop . . . but after those couple days of driving through the night . . . day . . . and then night again listening to Tortoise, I became addicted. They just have that sort of nuance associated with them, which makes them easy to travel to, whether it is by car, plane, train, or bus. You can just put on the headphones, pull out your copy of The Western Lands by Burroughs . . . and well, actually understand what is happening in the book (I did this once while riding the Amtrak to D.C . . . I don’t whether it was Tortoise bringing me clarity or if it was just a good day).
However, despite the clarity Tortoise gives me when traveling . . . somehow for other situations, it just doesn't work. Like to prep myself to write these passages, I put some on, you know, as a refresher to get the sounds back into my head . . . it didn't work. Maybe my mood was completely off . . . or something, but I was not feeling it . . . at all. I had to wipe the slate off and switch over to something completely different, Grandaddy, to get back into the writing feel.
Anyways . . . I suspect on the flight to France in May I'll have a sufficient amount of Tortoise on the playlist, to get by. For now I think I will give pause and stop writing for the day. I'm going to put on another sweater I think, while I wait for the fire to warm up the house . . . and I'm probably . . . no wait, I am going to go russle up something in the kitchen for a dessert, I'm feeling kind of peckish, like I want to try everything sweet and fruity all at once. I think I have some frozen strawberries and blackberries leftover from the summer . . . maybe I'll whip something up with them. Yum.
I feel a little old. I just ate “dinner” at five in the afternoon, which for some reason as has signaled to me the sign of old age . . . early dinners, long naps, waking up at five in the morning to grab the newspaper. At least I still feel sprite. I have to give my defense tomorrow to be accepted into the “grant money program” for my doctoral research . . . otherwise, no
Anyways the dinner was fabulous! As mentioned earlier I started out making a winter melon soup . . . I thought that that would be filling enough and end that gnawing hankering I was having for Chinese cuisine. I ended supporting that with some stir-fry . . . which turned out quite nicely.
Onto the purpose of this article, I pulled out the Swell Maps a couple weeks ago. They’re one of those British rock bands from the 1970’s . . . and fittingly enough were influenced by other groups like Can (see prior post). They’re basically you’re fitting punk rock group . . . that you bop along to when you’re in need of one of those uplifting kind of beats that’s not too intense . . . but at the same time has enough push to get everything moving. When I was still in high school I would, pop the Swell Maps on after those painful days in the public school education system . . . now I pop the Swell Maps on after those painful days . . . at work, when I’m expected to complete piles of paper and readings and research and well, everything else.
My brother was a huge fan . . . he’s into that kind of stuff though . . . you know, the whole punk mainstream thing. Which in being, seems kind of . . . against his . . . docile, mellow nature, but I suppose he surprise the most of us with his quirky kind of tastes. Hmmm . . . I suppose I should write some more . . . describe more, but I haven’t really any more words in me.
Hmmm, come to think of it . . . I could use a little bit of The Swell Maps right now, to loosen up a little bit. I’ll post more later, when I feel a bit less strained.
Summer, Sunscreen, and the Joys of Can: Why I Spent My Summer Holidays Running Extension Cords Across the Lawn.
As promised I’m going to start posting all these writings that I’ve been storing up for the past months. Here goes:
I’m going to start out with the music of my childhood, Can. Not going to lie, Tago Mago was the first album I ever bought . . . I remember being thirteen and my brother giving me fifteen dollars to go buy myself something nice. I came back with Can. Not going to lie I don’t remember much else about the incident, other than that I spent the rest of the summer with the music on loud, running the player from a series of extension cords going through the window of my bedroom, the roses in the garden outside, into the lawn, and past it into the fallow field that lie
beyond our house. There I could run, dig, pretend, burn the skin on my shoulder and back while still listening to those beated, semi-psychedelic tones.
I guess the entire push of this article is that Can is the music of summer, the summer of children, when running and playing is all one can ever think about. It’s reminiscent of the smell of sunscreen applied in liberal amounts because everyday you have to deal with parents ranting about how “Skin Cancer Kills!” and reminds a person of skinned knees, fresh strawberries and cut watermelon. I suppose this musing, about how Can makes me feel and the setting in which it should be listened, might be only due my close tie to it and narrow mindedness to branch out my listening to other situations.
Whichever, I think I’m going to slice up some winter melon . . . I’m making a winter melon soup for dinner, since it has gotten so chilly here as of late. Thankfully, I pulled my winter clothing out of storage in the closet last weekend . . . or I would have had to shuffle groggily this morning to find my gloves and coat (not that they helped . . . I forgot to go out and start the car earlier than normal, so I had to sit in it, freezing while it warmed up).