TRIP! TRIP! TRIP! Oh, and I posted a new mix for the month.

Oh, I've posted the new mix for February, since February's only two days away and I'm going to be busy and out of town tomorrow until Monday. I'm going to another one of those "conferences" (meaning I'll probably be busy/bored) and well, it's in NY, so I'll be hopping on a plane tomorrow morning with a couple of colleagues to get there by that evening/afternoon (who really knows with all the time change switches I'll be going through). I'll be sure to enjoy it (woot)!

Anyways, my playlist for the coming month feels kind of . . . weak to me. I mostly put a bunch of crap on it that I have thinking about/wanting to/have been playing recently . . . so it doesn't really encompass, for me, the "feel" of February. Of course, how does one truly describe the feeling February in song? I haven't mastered it. But maybe I will. 

Stars. The Sky is Too Cloudy to See Them.

An old friend of mine from a childhood long ago (or maybe it just feels like it) posted me this video on my Facebook (dude, I am way too trendy) and I decided to post it here. Not only do I enjoy the music of Stars, the video reminds me slightly of my own childhood during the winter, usually spent everyday lying down on the ice of some forgotten pond on my father's property and staring up into the clouds or falling snow. 

Naturally, though, when my father found out that I spent my afternoons in the dead of winter lying on cold ice, he kind of freaked out. 

Know what's weird? Day by day, nothing seems to change. But pretty soon, everything's different.

Today, I saw two off-color things as I walked/wandered around campus. 

#1. On my brisk walk to today's topical brown bag luncheon, I found myself walking behind a grudgingly slow person. As I stared down at their feet, willing them to move faster, I realized something. This said person was wearing two different shoes, which in most cases could be any normal mistake to make (you know, accidentally throwing different but similar pairs of shoes while hustling to leave and not realizing it . . . we've all done it . . . or at least I have). However, it this case the two different shoes were not similar. One was a "flip-flop" sandal and the other a blue slide on flat. I should also note, it was snowing and not quite the right weather for either, especially the sandal. 

I wonder whether this was part of some observational analysis on human perception and reaction. 

#2. I had to catch the bus to ride over to West Campus. On the ride I peered out the window and saw a peculiar lady wrapping her arms around a large oak tree. She hugged it, stepped away, bowed, and resumed conversation (presumably with the tree). I pondered these actions. On the ride back to my office I peered out the window once more. Again, I saw the same actions being preformed other another, different tree. It was kind of amusing . . . I wonder what the lady is like personally. Interesting, probably. 

Hmm. Things like this make me wonder. Maybe I need to pop out the norm. Maybe not. I'm listening to Okkervil River for the evening . . . but I think I'm going to change it to some electronica/techno/house/funkadelic. I'm in that kind of mood and Okkervil River doesn't fit. 

Lying in Bed, Empanadas, and Nietzschian Philosophy: Why the Air Feels so Fresh.

After last Thursday's incident of unusually warm weather for the season, the temperature took a turn for the worst. The skies became clouded and the sun left (for warmer areas I suppose) leaving behind the chills of flurried snow and 5 degree weather. To suit such a day, I am lying in bed (the guest bed in one of the spare bedrooms, which, as of late, I've become accustomed to sleeping in for whatever reason . . . I think it makes me feel adventurous) comforted by the warmth of the covers and the soft glow emitted from the bedside lamp. 

I've spent the morning and afternoon reading more philosophy. Of course, all natural sense would tell me to finally dive into those French philosophical novels I picked up in Montreal, however, sense does not seem to apply to my reading choices (at least not for today). I've chosen a good standby, which in this instance is not Hesse (who can usually fill every circumstance with reading joy), but instead, I've gone with a little Nietzsche. For some reason I find that his works have a sort of . . . depth (so to speak) that fits dreary days (such as these). 

I'm currently working through "Uber Wahrheit und Luge im aussermoralischen Sinn" which titled in English is "On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense." It basically deals with the theoretical questions of truth and such as it is . . . making it quite and interesting read. If I finish it by this evening I'm going to start "Die Geburt der Tragodie aus dem Geiste der Musik," which in the English version is titled "The Birth of Tragedy" and it introduces his thoughts on the dichotomy of the Apollonian and Dionysian (I know, it's a little intense). 

On a lighter note, I made some great empanadas for lunch/dinner. They turned out nice. I'm not usually into Spanish food (peppers kind of unnerve me) but for some reason I had this awful urge for it . . . and today it turned out that the urge didn't lead me astray as the empanada were great. 

Well, for now I am going to go back to reading. I'd like to spend the rest of the day without a thought about the coming work week ahead, but I know that that isn't possible, so I will just try to push it as far out of my head as possible. Oh, I've also gotten over my Elf Power fixation. Today, I put on some Golden Smog . . . which for now it just as good.  

Counting threes through the window, imitation glass, that's been stratched in code, to be read by someone else.

Oh, and if you can't tell . . . I still kind of love Elf Power. Maybe tomorrow that love will fade into a temporary dislike and I'll move onto something else. The Ladybug Transistor? I've kind of been dying to pull out the Abermarle Sound and put it on. 

Hold my head to the skin I said, when my heart wasn't always there. As you turn down the light in the long black night, peel back the moon, beware!

Today, I woke up. I showered. I stood contemplating my day's outfit. I was told the prior day offhandedly that my "attire" wasn't "professional" enough. I didn't know whether to take the comment seriously or not. I figured that the person that made this comment was just trying to make a jab at me for wearing jeans and tees rather than one of those tight (rather revealing) dresses that "Emily-down-the-hall" wears all the time. So, I dressed normally. I made a pot of tea. I nibbled on a croissant. I checked the time and got ready to leave pulling on my coat and scarf and hat and gloves. Bundled, to face the chilly winter weather I grudgingly walked toward the door. I stepped outside. I cursed, quite loudly. 

It was about 70 degrees and not quite the right temperature to be dressed for snow. 

I'm thinking of drinking the entire sea, where fishes makes wishes and swim into me. Oh, what a beautiful dream.

I've been in the laboratory since 3 this afternoon until 9 this night.  It was . . . intense. After that I came home and computed data sets for . . . god knows how long . . . with computation and data sets everything seems to last forever. Finally, I stopped. I gave up and tomorrow I am going to push the rest of the data sets and computation onto some menial lab tech. Sometimes it's great to have authority. 

Now, since I'm on one of those pseudo-adrenaline kicks from punching Excel files, I've let loose and put on the last.fm radio (tuned to Elf Power) which is something I normally wouldn't do (I enjoy picking my own musical delights way too much) but . . . as I said I let loose . . . and am letting everything wash away. It's like a ritual cleansing, except with music and wine (which, by the way, is homemade . . . not by me . . . but some buff in Geography makes it for fun and I swindled a bottle . . . and, sheesh, it's . . . strong). 

This moment would almost be perfect if I did have this itch telling me that I should at least try to get some sleep, so I can wake up tomorrow and do this all over again. 

I Don't Feel Like a Gardenia.

I just got back from the office. My schedule this semester is totally off . . . I work in the morning until 9:30 and then I have a free period from then until 3 this afternoon. So I thought I might as well head home and mill around here rather than sitting around trying to think of things to do on campus. I handed back the homeworks I graded this morning. I don't think many people were too happy . . . but that could have been either from their grades or the fact that it was early in the morning after a long weekend (in their cases probably involving too much alcohol). 

Here, the day is getting progressively colder . . . with the winds picking up in speed . . . and it started snowing again about an hour ago. The whole day just feels a little . . . down. Of course, the whole day could be feeling melancholy because I put on some Ida when I came home . . . I thought it would fit the mood . . . and it did apparently too well because all I want to do now is curl up in the comfort of cotton and down and sleep for forever (if that was only possible). Instead though, I am going to put some water on and make a strong pot of tea (I've been craving oolong). 

On that note, I finally found my teakettle, yesterday. For some reason I had misplaced in one of the spare rooms . . . I remember doing this now, I was searching for a book on Tetraodontidae (pufferfish) that I thought I had packed away sometime during the move but still can't find . . . anyways I had brought the pot of tea in with me so I could refill my cup while I searched through boxes and shelves of books. I must have left in it there. 

This entire topic brings me up to point on the fact that, now, after moving from my rundown flat where nothing worked to this house where everything works, I have too much space . . . too many rooms to lose things in. And now, since I'm liquidating all of my aquariums , due to a lack of time and because I'll be leaving this summer and staying in France for 4 months, I have all the space left behind from them. I mean, you never really realize how big a 250 gal. aquarium is until it's gone and leaves this big void . . . and then of course take away that and about three others and you have an even larger void. 

My other issue is . . . cleaning. In total the house has about twelve rooms, only about five of which I regularly: kitchen, living, dining, bed, and bath rooms. However, despite my non-usage of most of these spaces they still somehow become unclean over time, gathering dust and age and just that feeling of something . . . decomposing. After finding my kettle yesterday I went on a cleaning rampage . . . trying to void the house of every single dust particle. It didn't work. I woke up this morning and there was more dust. 

Well, I'm glad I'm confronting these problems now . . . almost a year later. I'm going to go and change the music. If I listen to anymore Ida I really will fall asleep . . . and miss the time that I need to leave to go back to campus. I'm thinking Stephen Malkmus . . . or something related. 

Recuperation. Rejuventation.

Jazz last night was wonderful. I feel awkward saying I "boogied all night long" but that's the only way to describe it. About two years ago I enrolled in a jazz dance class (to get outside myself and relieve stress) so I know the gist of jazz dance . . . a little swing, a little jitterbug, even the Charleston. So now, I'm worn out. I woke up way past dawn, had a throbbing ache in my head and feet regions, and now am just trying to soothe all those ailments. I put on some music  . . . I started with Grandaddy and am working my way down the alphabet (which usually doesn't work for me . . . but the transition from Grandaddy to Grizzly Bear to Guided by Voices to Headlights to Hercules & Love Affair isn't that bad actually). Now I should go and mill around a bit . . . It's a holiday tomorrow so all offices at the university are closed (thankfully) . . . I have to go into the eye doctor and pick up my eye glasses, though, so I can't stay in all day lounge around. Sheesh. 

Rock Skippin' at the Blue Note!

I'm going out to the jazzhaus tonight, which equals jazz music, tired feet from too much jittertbug and swing dancing, and a throbbing head in the morning from a combination of loud music and too much alcohol. Well, in a whole, it sounds like it's going to be a great night. To prepare for the night I put on some old Duke Ellington at about mid-afternoon . . . and just soaked it in. It was wonderful. I bopped along to the beat while messing around in the kitchen and then while I finished up the last of the 200+ papers I was grading (I kind of feel sorry for a people belonging to the assignments I graded last night . . . I didn't have Duke playing then, so I was in a less forgiving mood . . . tough break). Now I'm going to take a shower. Lounging around all day makes me smell funny. 

Woke Up Late, Lost My Teakettle, Munched on Greek Pizza: Why I am the most exciting person . . . ever.

I slept in too much this morning. By the time I had woken up the sun had already risen high into the mid morning sky . . . and I was sitting in the kitchen wondering the teakettle had been misplaced so I could make a strong batch of tea. I still haven't found it. I had to pull out of storage the older . . . slightly grosser . . . one I that use for cases like this. It threw of the whole morningoff when it was kind of already off to begin with. 

Isn't greek pizza the most delicious food? That's what I rocked out for dinner last night (and this morning as well), instead of grilled cheese . . . and I have to say I think it was a good choice. In other news, I'm still stuck inside grading (which means being completely unenjoyable) and listening to Atlas Sound's album "Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See but Cannot Feel." After I've played through it a bit I'll move onto something more . . . upbeat.

It's Beautiful Outside.

So, I was advised against rolling the snow, whether I actually would have or not, by John. He called to suggest that we have a grilled cheese night, and if so he'd pick up some deli slices after work. I said sure, because, well who refuses grilled cheese? and it gives me a reason to whip up a brothy noodled soup with tons of chopped veggie goodness. Anyways . . . I said, "I'm going to roll around in the snow," and he said,"Uh, are you sure that's a good idea?" and I said, "Why not?" and he said, "Well if you nose pops open and starts bleeding everywhere on the snow people might think you killed someone in the backyard," and I said, "Oh yeah, I forgot, the nose . . . right." End of conversation. 

So that's why I won't be rolling anywhere. The nose. It's still broken, obviously. I have like six stitches on it that will have to be removed and a "brace" around it to help mend the cartilage after they snapped it back into place. It's actually quite gross . . . the entire area is this swollen lump of bruises that I suppose would be sore to the touch if I wasn't abusing my pain medication, which makes my entire body kind of numb. My greatest hope is that it'll heal without scarring . . . I mean, the doctor told I'd probably have a lump in my nose from now on from the scar tissue . . . but I hope the big gash that had to be stitched up shows minimal tissue damage. On the brighter side, scars aside, I do fall to sleep easier without relying on my sleep aids . . . it must be a side effect of the drugs. 

However, despite the whole "not being able to roll around in the snow thing" (sheesh, I sound like I twelve or something . . . maybe this is a side effect of the painkillers as well . . . hmm), I did pick out the perfect music for the day. Think Britpop. What do you think of? Blur, of course! (or at least I do . . . maybe they're a little too rocky for pop, but whatever). I've put on their album "Parklife" and intend to keep it on all afternoon. I even hooked up the speakers to play the sound outside so I can run around in the back yard and still hear the music . . . Hmm, I feel like twirling in circles. That's probably a bad idea too. 

Well, I'll think of something to expend some of this energy I have building. For now I'll just listen to some Blur inside . . . and grade papers (even though it's boring). 

Strange winds are blowing me down this way: Why I'm going to need Headlights to drive through the snow.

My 7:30 this morning was cancelled because the prof apparently didn't feel like showing up. It's a bummer since this was my only course and I need to be in office, so I basically woke up and came here for no reason. So what's the plan now? To take the papers I have to grade home and work on them there in the warmth of the hearth (that was an odd thing to say) rather than staying here in this . . . building. 

Oh, on a side note, it's snowing again. I think I'll go take a walk outside later today . . . maybe when and if the sun comes out from behind the clouds and the temperature rises above 4 degrees.

I feel kind of weird writing this but I just kind of want to roll in it . . . like a child does in the snow. Odd, hm. 

What am I Feeling? Melancholy.

I'm listening to the Silver Jews. I've started with their album "American Waters" but I think I'm going to keep this up long enough to make it through "The Natural Bridge" and "Starlite Walkers" as well. But I don't know how long this will last since I have the strongest craving for Smog since I began writing. We'll see how it goes. 

I suppose I don't have much else to write in this post. I went to eye doctor today, as I said I would yesterday. I'm not sure whether I'm going to enjoy my new frames. To cut costs, I bought a pair vintage from a third party dealer, and I'm having the lenses made to fit them, rather than buying new. They're just a little different older pair which were a solid brown with green inlay. 

Anyways, I think I actually am going to switch over to some Smog . . . so I should go and do that before the feeling passes. Maybe later tonight I'll get a little more creative with my listening choices . . . like some Sparklehorse . . . or Headlights . . . no, now I'm feeling so soul or blues, like Dead Prez. 

I'll just put it out there . . . I have no idea what I'm feeling. 

A Follow-up Side-Note

Oh, I'm going to be posting some writings on all the musicians mentioned in the previous post sometime tomorrow . . . after I get back from the eye doctor . . . for some reason they require an entire new examination of my eyes for me to buy new frames and lenses . . . despite the fact that I doubt my prescription has changed much. I just hope the bandages on my face don't prove to be a problem for the examination. 

Existing Can Be Kind of Disfiguring: Why I'm Living Off a Diet of Bran Muffins and Pain Meds.

What can I write that will for me subdue this urge to cram everything in my mind into words to create an amalgamation of text to describe this overwhelming . . . feeling? I suppose I could start by describing the most perfect worse day of my life so far. Really, it was perfect in that this was the kind of day that hollywood execs write scripts about where famous stars play leading ladies and there is this huge triumph over insurmountable obstacles . . . with exception to that whole triumph part, for me there was no triumph, no win, just despair.

So picture this:

It’s Monday morning. I woke up. Lying in bed wondering why I made myself get out of the comfort of down and cotton. The sounds of Public Enemy are in the background . . . with “Burn Hollywood Burn” sounding out from my alarm clock. It’s kind of the perfect song to wake up to in the morning.

I roll over to look at the clock. For some reason it reads an hour later than it should. Maybe I subconsciously set the alarm to go off later than normal so I’d purposefully be late to work. I still haven’t actually figured whether it was a slip of my subconscious or faulty manufacturing, but either way I was late and when people are late they rush. They pull themselves out of the state they are in and try to make up all the time lost by moving quicker than normal.

Because of this I walked out of the house forgetting my wallet, scarf, gloves, and the sack lunch I had prepared the previous night. I sped down the highway to the sounds of the album “thickfreakness” by The Black Keys . . . you know, a little roadway blues. I pulled into the parking lot and then proceeded to run to the campus building to both fight off the cold and make myself feel like I was going to be less late than I already was.

I arrived to my office with red nose and blossoming cheeks. I soon realized after arriving that I had forgotten to grab my satchel and rucksack containing all of my work files out of the backseat of the car in my rush to make to the office. I run back to my car. I search my pockets, searching for my car keys. I realize I forgot them in my office. I run back to my office. I search my desk, bags, and all the drawers for the missing keys. They aren’t there. I realize I must have dropped them in route somewhere. I backtrack. Twice. Then, finally out of desperation I run back to my car and peer inside the window. I see my keys dangling from the ignition. I try to open the door. Locked. I try to open every other door. Locked.

Fuck.

I walk miserably back to the office. I hear the dulcet tones of Elf Power’s “Come Lie Down With Me (and sing my song)” playing from somewhere in background, possibly the adjoining office. I phone John. He has my spare. He doesn’t answer and continues to not answer for the next 6 hours. I do what work I can without my files. I mill around. Get that bitter chiding from my superiors for being late. Finally, John answers. He brings my spare and says he’ll meet me in the parking lot.

I run out to meet him. I see him in the lot walking around as if searching. I wonder what he’s searching for. Then I realize what it is. My car. It’s not there. It seems in my rushing pace I had inadvertently parked zone that my permit did not authorize. It had been towed. I crawl into John’s car to . . . relax. I made all the necessary phone calls. From the speakers I could make out “Put Us Back Together” by Headlights chiming out. It was soothing. Of course, once I got to the tow yard I realized that in the rush of the morning I had forgot my wallet with my license and registration in it . . . so I had to bum a ride all the way home to retrieve it before I could pick my vehicle up. 

After the fiasco was completed, I reunited with my auto in the tow yard, paid the overpriced fine and charges, and left feeling quite joyous. I mean was else could go wrong? However, joy must cloud the senses somehow, because halfway through the drive home I heard the flashing whirring of a police car pulling me over. I was speeding, apparently. I began to search for my wallet. I couldn’t find my wallet.

Fuck.

Here, I don't exactly know what happened . . . apparently somewhere between me obtaining car car at the tow yard and me thanking John for his helpful services, I misplaced my ID. I would later find out that it was left, somehow, crammed between one of John's car seats. So not only did I get a ticket for speeding but also one for driving without a license. My drive home was spent listening to the Starlight Mint’s album “The Dream that Stuff was Made From” and thinking about how I could pinch my savings to cover all the money that had to pay “the man” today.

Then in no time I was home. I got out of the car. I grab my bags and paperwork. Then, I slipped. I don’t even think it was icy but as I walked up the steps to the doorways my footing became misplaced and I tumbled down about ten stairs and rolled into bushes in front of the steps. I felt . . . pain . . . from the fall naturally but also because the bush I had rolled into had thorns that were quite large . . . and they were poking into my skin. I crawl out of the bush. I saw red. I felt red. I wondered where my glasses were.

At this point I heard John walking from his car over to me. He gasped. I would soon know why. Looking into the mirror, I gasped. My nose had taken a beating. It was bleeding slowly and bent in some abnormal position . . . quite hideous really. At that I had myself drove to the hospital. While in the car, I was still wondering where my glasses where because without them I’m practically blind and I heard The Violent Femmes coming from the speakers. It seemed far off.

At the hospital I found out that my nose was broken. The doctors proceeded to pop it back in place and bandage it. Thankfully I couldn’t see any of this happening . . . oh, and thankfully they gave large doses of pain meds to “deal’ with this. I couldn’t really think about anything other than the fact of how this was really going to eat up my savings.

Then in no time it seemed everything was fixed, so with bandages and pain meds in tow I arrived home, again, finally. I needed a nap . . . a long sleep. Thankfully, I didn’t have office hours the next day, so I wasn’t technically required to come in . . . and my classes . . . oh yeah, I’d be skipping them. I made a large cup of strong hot tea and put on whatever was easiest to find. It turned out to be Citay. It was kind of fitting. Then I fell asleep.

I woke up this morning to the sound of the phone ringing. I managed to find it. It was John. He called to say that when he left the house that morning he found my glasses near the steps. He’d left them on the table. I said my thanks, popped in my contacts, and made my way downstairs to pick them up.

On the table, there they were, snapped in half and lenses smashed to bits. Kind of fitting, heh? I wallowed in this a little bit. I suppose one say that this day, yesterday, wasn't that bad. I mean, at least no one died . . . of course, I've dealt with the loss of death before . . . and I've got to say, it just doesn't sting the same way a getting hit with three different police tickets, a towing charge, hospital bill, a broken nose, and a smashed pair of glasses coming at you all in the same day.

There are no benefits of lying (with your friends).

Do you know what the best smell I've ever experienced is? A smoking cigarette mixed with a breeze of cold snow from an open window and a bit of sage from a potted plant sitting nearby.

Add the experience of this smell with the Apples in Stereo playing in the background and you will have the best winter morning ever. Toss in a hot homemade apple turnover and you have my morning.

I think I need to live life more.

What the Hell is an Aquagem?

My fingers are swollen. Why? I spent all morning and afternoon knitting . . . and most of last night as well. I've made three pairs of mittens and watched about a million bad films, listened to some some great orchestral chamber music, and downed at least a full bottle of wine while making them.

I think I'm going to stop for the night and take an aspirin. Tomorrow I'm going to start on matching socks. I don't exactly know if people wear matching socks with their mittens but, I think I'm going to start. I think the color of yarn that I used are actually better suited to be worn on the feet rather than the hands . . . I mean really they're labeled names like "Fruity Fiesta," which is basically a vomiting of all the colors on the color wheel dyed in wool, "Berry Bonanza," which is series of blues and purples dyed into alpaca, and "Aquagem," which is this violent turquoise that should never be seen on a person's foot or hand dyed into an eco-cotton blend.

Hopefully by tomorrow my fingers will lose their swell so bending them won't be as painful . . . and maybe by then I'll be off this knitting buzz that I've thrown myself into. Maybe not. I've got a week left until the holidays end for me and I have to go back to work and classes and everything else (you know, those dreadful obligations), so I'm going to try do things that I wouldn't be able to do once everything picks up again.

Maybe I'll be ambitious and start reading through all those French novels I bought in Montreal.

Maybe not.

Body Language, Foreign Families, and Walks Outside: I Finally Get to Experience the Joys of Home.

Sheesh. I haven't posted in nearly two weeks. I've been a little out of touch with my computer. After arriving in Chicago I stayed there over the holidays . . . hung out . . . had a run in with Septimus (who never showed up in Montreal . . . but did make it for a reunion in Chicago) . . . and then caught a rental car to St. Louis to meet up with John and his . . . uh, family. We stayed there until Tuesday the next week. I have to say those five days with the entirety of the Hagebak family was the best family reunion I have ever endured . . . and I'm not even related to them. I think it's because they don't speak a tongue that I know very well, so I either had to have everything important translated for me, or I went with my more enjoyable option, I interpreted everything they were saying via body language. Overall the stay was splendid, I got to enjoy my yearly fill of lutefisk (yum) and pushy grandmothers.

After arriving back here, home, finally, I rested for the entire day. Lounged. Read. The weather warmed up to such a tolerable degree that I went outside and ran around in the trees soaking up the shine of the sun. Hmm, I think I've covered the past two weeks up to the present. Oh wait, I suppose I should mention something about the new year . . . okay, well, it's a new year. Enjoy it and the coming seasons. My mother had the colloquialism that "what you do in the first of the new year is what you will be doing for the rest of the year." The first of the year has past, so I guess this really wouldn't help anyone.

On a side note I spent my new year's day playing Scrabble, drinking grape soda, and watching old silent films. I guess I'll being doing that all the time now.

Sleep and Dream Peacefully: My Last Night in Canada.

It's my last night in Montreal. Tomorrow, I will be on a plane to Chicago to stay until Friday. There I will visit my mother, put some flowers on her grave, and enjoy the solace of the city . . . the tall buildings and busy streets . . . the foodstuffs . . . the noise. Oh, how I love the noise.

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.

Walking the Alleys and Picking of Loads of Literature: The Status of My Travels.

I suppose I should first write that Montreal is beautiful. I've been busy since I got here, exploring the city . . . walking down the hidden alleyways . . . devouring the most delicious cuisine I've tasted in a long while. I met up with an old friend yesterday and spent the whole day speaking French and being shown the city's wondrous nooks. Additionally, Septimus has yet to show up, so I get to spend a little bit of me time, which is kind of what I wanted out of this trip. Hopefully, I'll get the same alone time in Chicago when I leave here for there on Saturday.

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.

The Oxford Illustrated History of Western Philosophy: I've Read It Before.

I'm in the airport waiting for my flight thirty minutes. I'm watching all the other people . . . walking around . . . standing around . . . chasing after their out-of-control children. The guy sitting next to me is reading a book on Western Philosophy. He's on the section entitled "Descartes to Kant" and is currently reading the about Leibniz and his logic as it relates to free will. I was reading over his shoulder . . . kind of creepy, I know . . . but really, airports are kind of creepy places. 

Catching a Flight to Montreal After Late Night Exams: Why I Love Travel.

I just got back from administering a final exam. It was one of the late night exams scheduled from 7-10 pm. Thankfully, the exam was one of those "150 multiple choice questions" kind of tests, so all the students got finished earlier than the allotted time, thus making it so I got to leave sooner. I'm also double thankful for the multiple choice exam, because it means I don't have to spend the next week trying to pull myself through grading 60 exams manually over my holiday, which actually will be starting tomorrow. 

I have office hours in the morning which I'm obliged to make an appearance for, but when they end I will then be off to the airport to catch my flight to Montreal . . . well, my flight to Chicago where I have an overnight layover and a flight to Montreal the next morning. I have a feeling it's going to be a little hectic. Just writing about layovers and flights and destinations . . . makes me feel flustered . . . but in a good way (if that is possible). I suppose I love to fly. You know, seeing the world through that tiny window, so far away, but still there. Maybe it's just the nerd in me but I like to identify landforms as we pass over them in the plane . . . synclines, bajadas, drumlin fields, whatever. 

Anyways, I should stop writing and go double check my suitcase . . . so I don't have to worry about wondering if I packed enough pairs of socks in the morning . . . and I should find my plane ticket . . . and pack a sack lunch for the wait at the airport.

Oh, I almost forgot . . .the most important thing: my travel playlist. I needed to upload it to my ipod before I leave. It would be a shame to leave without remembering to bring the music essentials. 

Did I Mention I Went Exploring Today?

In light of the fact that I wasn't able to get my daily breathe of fresh air in the usual manner today, I took a walk. Adventured around the property . . . something that I hadn't yet been able to do since moving here. Everything was pretty much covered in snow, but visually it was quite appealing. I mean, who doesn't like hazy pictures of frosty snow laden landscapes? They're more captivating than the alternative . . . pictures of the forest covered in detritus, leaves, accumulations of organic matter and trash, all brought to light by the heat of the sun and the tilt of the Earth's axis. But snow, well, it covers all this up. 

Despite the chill, it was nice to get outside though . . . experience a world outside that of my house, work, and educational obligations. Plus, I haven't had a reason to put my all-weather waterproofed hiking boots on since . . . well, forever (I had thought I would get the chance in Alaska . . . but that didn't pan out for me). I guess I didn't really need them since it's not exactly like I needed traction climbing any steep inclines on our property, but I couldn't decide whether it would be better to wear gollashes or hiking boots. Obviously, I went with the boot . . . and it wasn't a bad idea. 

When I got inside, I made cocoa and sat in front of the fireplace to thaw. It was comforting. Reminded me of being a child again . . . except I never sat in front of the fireplace as a child drinking cocoa . . . I didn't drink cocoa. My mother was allergic to chocolate, so she didn't allow any chocolate byproducts into the house. I guess she was afraid I might inadvertently kill her. 

Well, all this speak of family reminds me that I got a call from Septimus, my brother, today. He's meeting me in Montreal. Says we should fly to Chicago together. I don't exactly know how he found out that I was heading to Montreal this Friday (though I suspect John might have been partially to blame . . . I think he writes him letters, suspicious), but he did and said he was catching a plane there. Says he has most exuberant finds and that he'd be bringing them with him to Montreal . . . which most definitely means he's bringing some more philosophical propaganda and mixtapes . . . so he doesn't have to mail them to me. 

Anyways, it will be good to see my brother. He's relaxing. Mellow. Always so calm. Adores John because they both "understand" jazz . . . whatever that means. I expect that he'll want to go and visit my mother with me. It's the real motive. Weirdo. 

Maybe I'll Go Exploring.

I get to stay home today. No office hours. No appointments. No finals. No lab work. No reason to go to campus. I hope I fill the day with something productive. Maybe I'll go exploring. 

Early Day, Mood Off, and A Little Bit of Retrospection: Why I Started This Day With Apple Pancakes.

Today. Day one of finals week, and obviously my office hours were filled with students questioning everything. I've got a review session tomorrow night . . . to answer most of the same questions. I don't know. After office hours I got to go home, there was no reason to stay there. I finished all of my laboratory tests for work, now I've just got data entry left . . . which is b-o-r-i-n-g . . . and I can do it at home, rather than being in office. 

It was 9 degrees today . . . and naturally I had a 20 minutes hike down the hill to where I parked my vehicle. It was . . . a chilly walk spent in retrospection for my obviously unwise decision to forgo searching for a knitted hat this morning. When I got home, thankfully the fire had not yet extinguished itself, so the house was warm enough. This was at about 12:30 (amazingly early, I know) . . . so I made some apple pancakes . . . with kiwi (a little unseasonal, I know, but it fit) . . . and of course topped with vanilla ice cream.  

Oh, and I thought I'd add the manicotti from last evening as well. It turned out nicely. 

Anyways, I've been in a funk . . . music-wise. I was able to pick anything out this afternoon once I got home . . . unusual, I know. I ended up having to put the library on shuffle . . . it was awful. I usually have such a clear picture in my head of what mood I'm in. I ended up having to start my way a Belle & Sebastian and working my way through the following "B's." I don't think I'm going to follow that schematic ever again. It threw the entire rest of the day off. Oh, and I've written up all of the artists below, excluding ones I've written about before like Belle & Sebastian . . . Maybe you'll be able to associate your mood . . . unlike me. 

Black Star: Let's Take a Bath!

Black Star. Well, I can tell you it's just about the worse thing in the world to switch from Billy Bragg to Black Star. I like them though when they're not placed so abruptly on the playlist. Of course, you'll find that I like most of the music in my library . . . otherwise, it wouldn't be in my library. It just has to be placed in the right mood when listened to. 

I listen to Black Star, not going to lie, when I take a bath. Not showering . . . because showering fits the more Camera Obscura kind of mood, but bathing . . . it fits. Sitting in a pool of warm water. Overflowing with bubbles. Soap. The smell of lavender and vanilla shampoo. Black Star in the background. It just lets you loosen up. Or at least it lets me loosen up . . . pulls muscles out of knots . . . but has that definite edge so that you won't loosen up too much and fall asleep in the tub.  

You know, now that I'm writing about it . . . I think I'll be taking a bath tonight. Wash everything off of me. You know, like a ritual cleaning . . . but minus the ritual part. 

Billy Bragg: The Best Moment Ever.

Billy Bragg. I only have Mermaid Avenue Vol I & II which are the collaborations between Bragg and Wilco . . . done using the works of Woody Guthrie songs. It's nice . . . kind of folky, kind of country . . . it's a good mix of both, and well, his voice is so low and soulful. Of course, since the album is partially full of Wilco performing the songs . . . It's kind of hard to situate just the Billy Bragg half. So I won't. Here's the mood:

Between 9 and 11 am when the sun has risen, but it's still technically morning. Cloudless sky. Wind. Lots of wind. Sometime in April, maybe March. The music is playing on the inside . . . but I'm outside and can still hear it. I have socks on. And a long T-shirt. No pants. It has rain recently, as in the last week, but not too recently so that the pavement on the streets is still wet. There is a big puddle of mud in the back lawn. I hop off the patio into it. Socks are still on. It splashes up, water and mud, onto my legs. Seeps into the white socks. Stains them brown. It's time to run. Everywhere. Around the trees. Hopping from puddle to puddle. Getting sufficiently dirty. I hear somebody waking up on the inside of the house. All motion stops. They peek their out the window. Questioning. I shrug my shoulders. Scene ends. 

I have to say: best moment ever. 

Beulah: A Sign That It's Been a Good Day.

Beulah. I'm a fan. Not a big fan . . . but still a fan. I have three of their albums: When Your Heartstrings Break, The Coast is Never Clear, and Yoko. They're what I associate with good days. Those days when everything falls into the right place. Of course, naturally you never know if the day has meshed correctly and fallen where it should until it's almost over. The solution to this problem is to have one of the above mentioned days . . . realize it right before you go to bed . . . put some Beulah on . . . and it's a good day complete. Of course, don't fall asleep with the Beulah on, because it's not exactly suited for sleeping moods . . . and then would therein, ruin the good day. 

Of course, there is one other situation that I find Beulah fitting for. In-office parties. It fits because the group isn't totally out there so that people wonder what the hell is on the party play list . . . but it's good enough so that you don't have to tolerate a night full of bad mixed songs from pop culture with unbearable beats . . . trust me, I've experienced this first hand. 

Bowties and Alfredo: My Progression Through the Works of Hesse.

I sat around all day again. Finished Demian. Started Der Steppenwolf. In the original German text. By tomorrow I'll be onto Das Glasperlenspiel. I feel like I'm reading through these too quickly. Maybe I am. Maybe not. 

Oh, and the noodles I was feeling last night turned out to be bowties. Topped with stuffed chicken pieces. It looks great . . . and tastes great. Win-Win. Tonight I'm feeling manicotti and cheese. We'll see how it turns out. 

Hesse, Noodles, Existentialism: What Sounds Like a Great Saturday Night.

I don't have much to write. I just feel like I've been on hiatus for awhile. I spent all afternoon reading Hesse. It was nice to get into a little German existentialism for the day . . . made me feel . . . secure? I also had the music of I'm From Barcelona on all day as well. It was nice, fit the mood, you know? I'll write something up about them sometime soon . . . for now I think I'll go and indulge myself in a nighttime snack. I'm feeling noodles . . . and we'll see where it leads. 

New Haircut: Let the Beat Roll Over.

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. 

In other news, I've got to go. I'll write something else tomorrow. I don't know. I'm listening to the Thermals for the day . . . even though I sadi I was going to go all folk this week. I needed some . . . encouragement . . . with life . . . oh, and a little female power trio, because I listened to Sleater-Kinney all morning. What can I say, I'm not resolute with my listening choices?

What Do You Know About the Soils of Your Region? Or More Importantly, What Don't You Know About Them?

I need a drink. Badly. 

From the title, you might be able to assume I know nothing about the soils of my region. Well, okay, truthfully, I know a little bit about the some soils . . . but not from my region . . . and I don't really know what to do with what I do know. 

The reason for my lack of knowledge? I don't care enough. 

The reason for my predicament? You know all that "work" I've been doing . . . the work other than my job (which is already too much) . . . it's been devoted towards, my soils knowledge. Let's just say that I took a plunge this year . . . I wanted to gain a better understanding of other areas outside my line of expertise (ecological biodiversity in the fields of marine biology and entomology) so I decided to take a course in something land based . . . Pedology (soils for the layman). Quite frankly, it's killing me. 

I suppose I should say . . . I'm not actually have trouble understanding the concepts and the reason behind my research. I'm just having trouble putting it all into words . . . or at least enough words to meet the minimum page requirement for the length of text (that's what it basically is) that I'm being required to write. Everything I have so far . . . well, it's bile. 

Thankfully, I do not have to deal with John being home tonight, so I have the music on loud, switching between Cat Power and Bonnie "Prince" Billy. Thankfully, today was a Tuesday so I only worked till eleven . . . then I was able to come home, nap for about an hour, and then work out a little tension via baking the most delicious sponge roll I've ever produced. The cream filling is to die for . . . it's a vanilla passion fruit (homegrown from the vine over this summer) combo . . . and it's all topped with a little powdered sugar and raspberries. Yum. 

The music just switched over to The Hold Steady . . . which I should go and fix immediately. It's throwing off the mood. Completely. I also think I'll go and whip up a dinner that is a little more healthy than sponge roll . . . maybe something like Mediterranean . . . like mojadara, yum. 

Well first, I think I'll go get that drink before anything else. I'm going to need it. 

Polyphonic Spree, Grilled Cheese, and a Busy Schedule: What I Can See in My Future.

It's the last week of classes before finals week. I have to say that I'm glad. Then it's off to Montreal. I'm staying there for a week, catching a plane back to Chicago staying there for a few days, renting an automobile to drive down to St. Louis to meet up with John and his family there (I'm really looking forward to it again! As if the grandmother who didn't speak English wasn't confused last year about why we dating or getting married . . . she'll be even more puzzled we she finds out we're living together, ha), then I'll be riding back home with John. Ah, all the travel I'm going to be doing, in such a short time . . . It's wonderful. 

Anyways, this week is going be all about, you know . . . calming down, feeling my inner zen, and I don't know making great soup and grilled cheeses sandwiches (that's what I do before every finals week). To do this, I'm going to be reverting back to some good, wholesome, folk music . . . well, maybe it won't all be folk music . . . but it will be soothing, low key . . . and very melodious. 

I'm not going all out folk today . . . actually I'm not even entering into the genre (but wait for it, tomorrow I'll totally be bringing out the Cat Power) . . . Tonight, I putting on the Polyphonic Spree. You know, the good kind of music that uplifts the soul and brings in the sunshine. They've got that edge of instrumental that I'm craving but at the same time the reverberation of choir and song. Plus, I can't stress this enough, they wear uniforms. Which sells the whole deal. I saw them for their New Year's Eve Concert with Grandaddy . . . robes and all. Best night of my life. Best show of my life, as well. Now really have to go turn the music up . . . loud.

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.