Montreal: It's Where I'm Heading.

Je voyage à Montréal dans deux semaines. Peut-être je pourrai pratiquer mon français. Peut-être pas. C'est toujours agréable sortit du pays un peu. Même si pour seulement quelques jours. 

The Blue Room: It Not Only Hosts Jazz on the Weekends, But Also Provides Ample Ground For Me to Splay My "Work."

We're going out again tonight, John and I. More jazz. It's kind of soothing really. It used to play jazz . . . saxophone, tenor. Of course, I also used to play french horn. This was all back when I was an undergraduate in Chicago . . . I was in a couple ensembles. This was also back when I thought I was going to devote my life to the arts and soft sciences, when I a linguistic anthropology major. Obviously, that didn't work out for me. 

Anyways, I felt a little lackluster about what I had written earlier, so I decided to write some more. I finished spinning the wool. I think I'll hand it off to someone else to use . . . I just don't have it in me. After that, I worked. Did a little bit of dribble writing for some closure on some research and then took a shower. I had to wash off feel that my body coats itself with after sitting around on my bed with about twenty books surrounding me, Manila folders full of paper and copies and charts and graphs, and my laptop at the center of it, shining one of those haloed lights on everything else . . . It just makes me feel . . . grimy. I think I need to start moving these little "work" sessions to a desk or table. 

Well, I should go. I can hear John coming down the stairs, ready for a night jazz, drinks, and merriness. Hmm . . . that sounded kind of lame. 

Big Band Jazz Makes For a Late Morning: Why I Need a Cup of Strong Black Tea.

It doesn't feel like my sort of day. I woke up late . . . which keeps throwing me off. John and I went to the Jazz Club downtown last night, and I still have the sound of piano mixed with a little trombone echoing in my head. When I woke up, he was already downstairs spreading marmalade on toast, which I remember thinking was odd because he hates marmalade and I'm always out on a jog before he even wakes up. Told you the day was off. 

I did make it to the market though, ended up getting some honey and boysenberry jam (I had since found that we were out . . . hence John using marmalade). After returning home, I relit in the fire, to warm the house back up from where it was lingering, 48 degrees F and chilly. While waiting for the feel to return to my fingers, I began starting up a side-project that hade been sitting on the back burner since last winter . . . spinning some alpaca wool that I finished dying last year, but never got around to spinning . . . maybe next year I'll actaully get around to making a sweater out of it. Maybe not. 

Anyways, I think I need to go and drink more tea . . . the sounds of big band jazz are coming back in my head. Or maybe it's John putting some music on . . . well, atleast he had the sense to put the tea kettle on as well, I can hear it boiling. Hmmm, maybe not. I think I need a nap. 

Panna Cotta and a Four Berry Blend.

Thought I would give a little taste of what I had for breakfast this morning. I whipped it up last night as a tasty dessert . . . until realizing that I had to let it chill for eight or more hours. So, welcome breakfast treat . . . after much shuffling of frozen fruit I found the four berries: raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, and strawberries to put on this morning. They really made the dish. John's going to use the remaining berries to make a berry blended pie this afternoon.

However, my secret trick that made this breakfast better: a handful of raspberries in a water glass with a splash of vodka . . . it made four in the morning a tad bit easier. 

A Round Trip From Chicago to Arizona in a Volvo Wagon: Why I Started Listening to Tortoise.

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.

Stir-Fry, Winter Melon Soup, and The Swell Maps: What I Use to Medicate Frustration.

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 France over the summer . . . and it would be such a shame for me to throw in the cards now after I’ve put so much time into perfecting my French (total lie).

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). 

An After Thought.

Oh, I've written up some . . . dribble . . . about the musicians on the electronica mix. I'll post it soon . . . not to mention, some writings on Can, Tortoise, and my favorite The Swell Maps. 

Recap: Life.

I haven't slept in 38 hours. John tells me this is probably a . . . bad thing? I keep telling myself that I'm too . . . wired to sleep . . . too on edge to drift off into that foggy slumber. The even weirder half of this whole ordeal (other than myself trying to stay awake) is that I had an entire day full of meetings . . . boring, lackluster meetings since 7 in the morning and I felt no urge to drift off during any of them. There must be something wrong with my tea. 

In other news, I finished John's birthday electronica mix . . . and did away with the whole Swedish thing because I really wanted to include some Burial on is and well . . . that didn't fit with the theme. But I did get lots of The Knife, Johan Fotmeijer, Adam Beyer, Emmon . . . you know, the usual. Upon finishing, I started to think that maybe I had went . . . I don't know . . . a little overboard, but now, looking back I think it'll go over quite well.

Just Somthing Else I Don't Have Time For: Why I'm Writing This When I Should Be "Working."

I'm really tired. I've come to the realization that I do way too much in my life. I mean my schedule is quite . . . obscene really . . . and well, never ending. I spent the holidays (even though it was not like I was going to celebrate them anyways) dividing my time between work (even though I wasn't supposed to be working), committees, focus groups, volunteer fundraising, and on Sunday night I was able to throw in two hours of studying my French. For once, I just want to be able to sit down and not think about . . . anything. You know, have a cup of milk and some scone-like treat, while not having to devote my time to any one particular task. 

So, in spite of my obviously bad time management skills, I decided to throw into the mix, well . . . throwing a party for John's birthday next week. It's going to be one of those "Swedish-Electronica-Themed-Parties" (even though he's not Swedish) complete with punch and all the delicious goodies. I'm a little excited . . . because not only do I get to make "punch and all the delicious goodies" but I get to mix all this delightful electronica music . . . which is such a pleasure. It also gives me a reason to not worry about work and research and work and people and obligations . . . did I say work? 

I think I'm going to mix mainly some Hot Chip and well, whatever else. I've got to mull over my choices for awhile. 

Brown Bag Sack Lunches and the White Man Keeping the Red Man Down: What I've Been Surviving on for Weeks and Chewing on With My Thoughts.

I feel like I should've have written something between this post and my last, however, I haven't had the time . . . ah, yeah, I haven't had the time. Naturally, of course, I'm beginning to hate that little factoid about my life (the whole no time thing) but I'm dealing . . . yeah, dealing.  I'm sleeping finally, though . . . I don't know if you remember those long stints of two-hour sleeps I was going through earlier in the year but, those are over . . . and on another note, I'm getting to chow down on a lot of premade, John-approved, brown bag, sack lunches (woot).  In another note, I realize that I haven't yet posted the pictures of John and I in Alaska (too bad for you) but I will, eventually . . . whenever I have the thought to . . . yeah, I'll get to it. 

Anyways, I thought that I would post this to give the semblance that I'm not yet dead . . . and am going to be picking up on my mood music choices (since I've made a lot of progress on my playlist and have so much to write) and well . . . I don't know . . . maybe this year I'll write another diatribe about how the holiday Thanksgiving, is another silent reminder of how the white man is keeping the red man down . . . really, it's all about suppression, man. 

What's It Like To Not Be Busy?

I bet it's great . . . yeah, great. 

Haven't The Time, But Might As Well Write Something.

Ah, as I simply wrote in my last post three or four days ago, John and I are back from Alaska. We got back on Thursday from our fifteen day trip to the north. So, what can I say, other than that it was amazing! I haven't yet been able to upload all of the pictures, but when I do I'll post them. 

By the way, the state-long driving mixes, worked out perfectly! The timing was perfect and everything. I haven't much time to write anything else, but I'll finish type something up soon, and start to resume the mood music postings. 

Oh My! I'm Back From Alaska!

Oh My! I'm Back from Alaska!

The Flaming Lips: Now Onto The Conventional Stuff, i.e. Why I Love The Flaming Lips

The Flaming Lips. 

Favorite Song(s): Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Pts. 1 & 2 (obviously). 

Favorite Album(s): At War With The Mystics, Clouds Taste Metallic

Now onto the conventional stuff: Why I love the Flaming Lips. My number one reason for this beyond the obvious (and if you can't figure that out, you should stop reading and impale yourself . . . uh, yeah) is that the only thing separating Wayne Coyne and I at the concert here last year was a large plastic bubble (just repeat those last three words in your head . . . to get the full effect . . . and then precede down page for the visual interpetation). 

There's not much else I'm going to say, because I have to leave in a little bit and haven't the time to say more. So . . . search the internet if you're really into reading some drab tidbit about The Flaming Lips . . . I'm sure there are about a million of them out there. 

Sleater-Kinney: Why I've Written About Them Before And Why I'm Writing About Them Again.

Who doesn't love a band that's totally rocking the strong power women trio thing? That's the basis for my love of Sleater-Kinney . . . besides the fact that their music is totally kickin'. I know I have written about them before, so I'll spare you the benign tidbits of my devotion towards female power artists (by that I mean I love good music created strong female leads, who doesn't . . . wait, I know who, misogynists . . . sheesh). Instead, I am going to set the scene . . . as I do for all my music . . . relay the mood. I know this is going to sound REALLY stupid but this power trio makes great as street music . . . now, please let me explain before, one gets to thinking that I'm crazy for making a comparison between this and the music on the urban street scene. 

Picture it: It's sunny. A bright day, the first one in what might have been a week . . . it's August or something like that . . . whenever hurricane season is because the tropical weather has pushed rains your way, flooding the north with cloudy skies and thousands of climate-induced depressed people . . . This day, however, the sky is clear . . . you know, in one of those "the world is your oyster" kind of ways . . . if that makes sense. Anyways, the sky is clear . . . blue with little patches of clean puffy white clouds . . . and beams of sunlight seem to be emitting somewhere from around your head as you walk confident and secure (in some sense I suppose I could say that is because you just listen to The New Pornographers after the scandal (see earlier post for more info) and woke up today to meet the world fully). What are you playing on the headphones? Sleater-Kinney, duh! Those indie punk riot grrrl beats . . . totally make an impact of the first day of sunshine! 

I, of course, totally know about this one from experience. Whenever I go out for a walk . . . to the market or wherever . . . I set the mood with a little bit of this . . . you know it, a little "Heart Factory"  or "Dance Song '97" are the soundtracks to every walk outside (well, not every, because this only really includes city walking where sidewalk is included). 

The New Pornographers: Sing Me Spanish Techno As I Walk Through Streets Of Fire

With The New Pornographers I have the albums Mass Romantic, Twin Cinema, and Electric Version, but I must say that I am quite partial to Twin Cinema over the other two (if you can't get it from the title my two favorite songs of theirs are "Sing Me Spanish Techno" and "Streets of Fire"). I'm kind of stuck on where to place these guys through way of the mood situation. 

What I'm kind of feeling, I'm kind of unsure of, because most of what I say by way of creating mood for music is based of personal experience and trial (like when I say Camera Obscura is good for the shower, it's because I've listened to it in the shower and a whole lot of other places . . . but I get the optimal feeling from it when in the shower . . . it just you know, connects). However, I've not actually tried or experienced what I'm feeling now . . . I'm just feeling that this is what I would do if possible. But anyways here it goes . . . the sitsu:

It's about 7:00, and you're going out for a night on the town with this wonderful guy (this situation is better suited if you're a female) and you're liked expecting this night to be totally cool, you know cause you've been out in the past and it was like . . . awesome, total connection, you know. So you're going to meet up at the cafe down the street and then go out for one of those dusk lit picnics in the quaint garden/park across the way. Obviously it's May or late April . . . still spring, but it feels like everything's on the brink of summer, but not quite yet because you still have to wear a light jacket for the cool nighttime. Anyways, you're at the cafe to meet up. You've been waiting for 20 minutes . . . you wait some more . . . then 30 minutes into your wait, you see a familiar someone walking along the street carrying the same basket he wooed you with on a previous date, except now on his other arm some other totty is chatting is up. You've been a) stood up and forgotten about, b) tossed aside for this complete lesser version of yourself, and c) totally hungry because you wanted to save some space in your tummy for that nasty food he always packs on the picnics anyways. Completely bashed, you walk back saddened and disheartened to your flat back down the street. Go up the flights of stairs; unlock the door. Throw down your jacket, purse . . . grab an apple from the bowl on the table . . . switch on the sound system . . . put on your headphones . . . crank up the volume . . . and listen to some New Pornographers. Now, everything is better. 

Wasn't that, like, completely picturesque. Don't you wish it had happened to you so, I don't know, you could actually know what the experience feels like and know if The New Pornographers actually does turn your frown upside down. Wow, that was a lame thing to say. Whatever. 

St. Vincent: What We Put On The Speakers For Some Good Ole Cooking And Babka Baking Bliss.

The next in the line up is St. Vincent. This is cooking music . . . baking music . . . babka making music.  It sets the perfect mood for anything you would ever want to make. John loves Annie Clark's voice so much that he puts it on every time he cooks or bakes . . . anything.  So, yeah, I suppose I am a little biased since I hear it every night (basically) while someone is cooking. However, even before he started doing such, I would put "Paris is Burning" on repeat while baking babka . . . it has the best rhythm to knead dough to . . . the same goes for chopping up fruit, veggies . . . it just kind of put you in this beat where everything flows just right . . . and when I'm in that beat I'm less likely to chop off a finger or get put off by kneading dough. 

Anyways, on I haven't mixed St. Vincent into the "Ultimate Alaskan Road Trip Music Mix" (that's the tentative name for it at the moment) . . . I'm figuring it'll be placed somewhere for the nighttime . . . with mountains . . . maybe another "Montana" . . . or maybe "British Columbia" . . . I don't really know how it is feeling for me right now. I'll figure out later. Hm. 

Yo La Tengo: Music For The Twelve O'Clock.

So yeah, I've been slacking with the musical selections, so today I'll be posting like a million of them. Starting today off, Yo La Tengo! This is music for the afternoon, you like some music is great for waking up and then other selctions are better for when its evening and dark out.  This is "it's twelve o'clock outside and the sun is shinging brightly and there is nothing that can stop the day from . . . being" music. Recently I put on the Yo La Tengo "I Am Not Afraid of You and Will Beat Your Ass" while I was slicing fruit in the afternoon . . . doing laundry . . . making gourd birdhouses.  You know all those multiple mid-afternoon, 12-4 pm activities you did when you're not at work. You turn the Yo La Tengo up really loud (because you can) and everything goes a little quicker.

Also, in the Alaskan Road Trip mix (John and I leave one week from now! EXCITED!), I've placed Yo La Tengo in the "Montana" part of the trip (I've divided the musical selections via state to make the task easier for me . . . we currently have the "Kansas," "Nebraska," "South Dakota," "Wyoming," "Montana," Idaho," Washington," "British Columbia," and "Alaska!" music mixes . . . they're not all finished, obviously). Anyways, that's all I have to write for now, goodbye. 

Le français est plus dur qu'il regarde : J'essaie ma main à l'écriture dans une langue étrangère et il ne résout pas très bien. Evidemment.

J'essaie de traiter mon français, donc j'écris cette poste en français. Je ne sais pas, mais je ne pense pas que ceci résoudra pour moi. Je suis un cours dans lui parce que je ne l'ai pas parlé puisque j'étais seize et je vais en France sur l'été l'année prochaine. Mon patron pense que j'ai besoin d'être préparé. Je ne suis pas dans lui qui beaucoup de mais essaie de ne pas faire ces sensations connues. De toute façon, je suis excité du voyage en France. Je n'ai pas été à l'Europe depuis ma période là-bas pendant un deux stage d'an. Bien sûr, pendant cette période que j'étais dans Autriche, donc ce n'était pas tout à fait le même comme ceci sera. J'ai apprécié l'Autriche tout à fait beaucoup, bien que. C'était un pays merveilleux avec les quantités abondantes d'histoire et de vues pour voir. Bien, je dois arrêter l'écriture maintenant. Je peux me sentir que ceci sera plus dur que j'ai pensé. Seulement la moitié de ces mots est correcte.