one of many

i thought i saw someone i knew at the gym today. this kind of thing happens so often now that i am never sure of anything. i glanced up and she was walking toward a corridor. when i looked up again she was gone. i walked to the corridor, but there was no one there. then i tried to remember what she looked like, but my mind had already melded the image with my memory of her from before so that couldn’t be trusted. plus, her face was off-shade due to heavy breathing. in addition, i’d just seen avril’s video for “sk8ter boi” on the monitors so her composite was slowly melding with a.l.’s. having considered all this for a moment, i went back to my routine. after all, that, if nothing else, helps anchor me to reality.

transition

given the closing of may, i had been mostly concerned with the likely truth that my tan would be largely viewed as unacceptable entering the month of june. thankfully, this slight (but noticeable) scare has been averted. all of this appears to be "well timed" (or at the very least "timed well") to those that know of my plans to also begin a prescription teeth whiting program over the next two weeks. not coincidentally, i've begun listening to the postal service on a fairly regular basis, along with a select few other bands that provide an equally soundtrack-acceptable collection of sound. translation: my life requires that i take in what i project. beautiful skin, glimmering teeth, and the sense that i'm following a path built on a synthesizer. it all feels correct.

oh

oh, to be in love on a tuesday. alas, i have no such luck -- i don’t even believe in tuesdays. but i do believe in me. i am watching a spider-like organism move slowly across the patterned carpet, feeling that this is an analog for my journey. i move in seemingly random directions, encountering the same pattern over and over again, with no more knowledge of the black shoe of death than of the end of infinity. it is not tuesday when you are two centimeters in diameter.

mmdywknd

over the years memorial day has become irremediably tangled with margaritas in my mind, just like christmas trees and gin or summer and nudity. the margarita is a drink that tips dangerously on edge. it has the potential to be butchered horribly and in that state it can ruin peoples lives (for a few hours), but a good margarita can help you remember the white-gold beaches of mexico in the spring even if you haven’t ever been there. that is why i recommend either patron or 1800 white and cointreau. i also recommend hanging out with attractive people and doing so on a sunny day while drinking.

borrowing from the nineties

did anyone else immediately think of ce ce penistion whenever they first heard the hillary duff song “with love”? i mean, the chorus is a blatant rip-off of “it should have been you”. i heard the duff song on mtv this morning and was shocked at this melodic plagiarism. this is yet another example of white stealing from black with no repercussions. but i suppose if you are going to imitate someone, ce ce peniston is one of the best choices you can make. not only is her nineteen ninety-two album finally a pop gem, it also has one of the best opening song duos in album history. “we got a love thing” is so i-don’t-care happy that it levitates, and “finally”, a striking piece about attaining your ideal partner, is even more emotional if less bubbly.

may fair

i've been listening to a lot of jazz lately. and by a lot, i mean more than usual. preliminary explanations point to the generally positive emotion conveyed by the melodies, but i find it hard to jump to conclusions. a lingering fact...combined with the current weather conditions in the northeast, my choices seem validated regardless of underlying reasoning. cheers.

bumper karts

i prefer to be surprised when i wake up. ideally, i would manage to forget something of considerable importance the night before, only to remember immediately upon opening my eyes. the advantage to this? it helps me to differentiate: to remember the days for some significant detail that inspired all the rest of the insignificant details. in short, a memorable awakening has the unique ability to define what it has no control over; my often listless life.

this morning, i was surprised.

because i live in a city, the sound of a car alarm alone isn't enough to cause it. i've grown...accustomed. but the sound of my car alarm...that's enough. fast forward to my second story window, to my stare across the street, to a blend; german sports sedan mixed with small american go-kart look-alike. at least she gave me the front end.

with my car now temporarily located in the fascinatingly trendy parking lot of the repair shop (a relative who's-who of the latest luxury models), i'm beginning to focus on tomorrow morning. while the leading possibilities remain fire and fallen airplane debris, i'm still holding out for a plague featuring a very specific breed of locusts. impossible, maybe, but the 6am rear-ending of a parked car isn't far behind on the reality scale.

i need to go buy insect repellent at neiman...will prada's new scent do? it certainly gave me that impression.

bury my bones in indiana

i spent the past extended weekend in south bend, indiana being assaulted repeatedly by the fightin’ irish. it was like their collective pride increased the air pressure around my being to a stifling level. and i’m still not sure why a school named after a french cathedral has the irish as mascots because no one would tell me. it was a pretty weather weekend, though, and acting pleasant takes your mind off of heavier things. it was fun to pretend i was back in school for a couple days, although it was different from my college days. i’ve never heard so many people make speeches about how faith and knowledge can coexist without the slightest contradiction. this is obviously a lie, but my promise not to ruin graduation prevented me from pointing this out. the commencement speaker was the c.e.o. of general electric, jeff immelt. his speech was very short and very good, incorporating humor and a sense of arrogance. it was mainly about how his company owned trump (g.e. owns nbc) and other television personalities and how g.e. was going green to help the environment. my ambitions are basically the same except for the environment part.

fusion

read here, classic rock devotees - i have listened to, understand, own, and generally appreciate every one of the 15 albums you've cycled through your changer in the last forty years. only, forgive me for doing it in forty days, at the age of 16; with the same level of comprehension. call it what you would like, but my penchant for timelessness has always been aimed much more closely at three-button suits than musical and visual art. with music in particular, the parameters are simply too dynamic and the stage is firmly set in the here-and-now. longevity relating to a specific piece of work is simply a part of that equation, and in many ways, is actually the most dependant element...

however...having now railed against timelessness, i'm writing today that this same diminished importance, in the proper context, can also work in favor of these tracks published long ago. throw out the past altogether, and the possibility still remains for the listener to truly notice and give in to the nostalgic and genuine yearning for emotional distribution put forth by seasoned veterans of the stage. i had the fortune of such an experience on wednesday night, and its details are not soon to leave my thoughts...

morrison is dead, densmore has been bitter for thirty years, and krieger and manzarek now physically resemble individuals approaching a triple digit birthday. what remain of the doors are those same two old men, full song rights to the entire collection, a new name, and a new lead singer; all of which intrigued me to the point of needing to catch their current tour. the venue...one of the most famous theatres in the northeast and a former stop on doors' tours of yesteryear.

riders on the storm, now fronted by brett scallions (fuel, 89-06), filled the keswick theater (philly) to capacity and then some...as expected, the crowd was simply too diverse to explain. with a seating model that favored symphony viewing more than flowing rock, fewer than a hundred people were granted passage to a standing area immediately in front of the stage. everyone else was assigned a red-velvet covered seat in one of the rows that followed. fortunately for us, we were in the back row of our section...we took advantage and stood for the duration. after all, brett asked us to.

scallions took a risk with this gig, and it was only after his performance that i was able to understand why he did it. it wasn't brett-impersonating-jim, it wasn't brett-interpreting-jim...i don't know, it just felt right. like the leather pants and unbuttoned shirt he was wearing, the music allowed me to marvel at how doors-like and brett-like the entire scene really was....his voice flowed into the lows of morrison's range effortlessly, his stage meandering felt anything but choreographed, and there were certainly times where you could close your eyes and blend the album with the present. to be fair, portions of the set, especially in between songs, felt slightly forced. krieger and manzarek sounded as old as they looked when they talked (though not when they played), and there was all-too-obvious ass kissing flying all around the stage between the old heads, brett, the audience, and back to the old heads...sometimes, it felt stiff. nevertheless, some of that came off as pleasantly nostalgic, and given that i'm not nearly old enough to have experienced the live tour the first time around, i deferred judgement to those who had and seemed to enjoy the chance to re-live it. as my friend ben pointed out, manzerek's constant need to play the keys with his shoe was also a little distracting at times, but the night truly boiled down to a familiar sound from a familiar voice.

i'm not sure where this show ranks for me from a quality standpoint, but it certainly moves close to the top in the category of "shows i'm happy not to have missed". more importantly, one act from the show in particular, break on through, was definitive enough in itself to remain in memory indefinitely. great show, great venue, and a renewed faith for me that the classic tours don't always have to disappoint. and that brett can do an entire show sober and in good vocal condition. weird.

it's always been there

as i was growing up, my father often had to spend time out of town. a few days gone were hardly noticeable, but there was something to be said of his trips that covered multiple weeks. from those journeys, he would return with gifts, usually in the form of t-shirts or collectibles. as everyone knows, blue t-shirts that say "atlanta" in scripted neon green lettering are as good as any apology.

the things is, after two weeks, i needed things. my mother never understood why only a $200 nokona glove would do, and with the webbing coming loose in the old one and nobody else to go to, i ran into problems. problems that needed to be solved in hours, not waited on for weeks. the point: if you miss enough, practicality becomes imperative no matter how trivial the stage. after two weeks of waiting, all i needed was a fucking glove. put down the shirt and take me to the store.

my hiatus from this site has concluded, and i come bearing more than a cotton blend. my next post will describe significant music, the type of information that this site has proven most capable of delivering. i would not have returned with anything less.

dear jane

please don’t give me one syllable replies because then your lips don’t move as much. i’ve discovered i like words better as text than as sonic vibrations, but i still love to see you speak. we can make our memories short and marked by a lack of concern. we can sit facing each other twelve inches apart. i can sing like paul banks and you can mouth the words back to me. we can try living sideways, neither progressing nor retreading. we can do all these things. or we can never meet.

clench

the other writer on this blog (there’s another?) is taking an indefinite leave to plan his wedding and subsequent move south, so that is why he hasn’t posted in a while. as for myself, i’ve just been staring at the sun (think smile, not the god-awful u2 -- or for those of you who were too young in 1994 think tv on the radio). i lead a non-stressful life by choice but i recently found out that i clench my teeth while i sleep. i can only imagine this has something to do with repressed memories. either that or my brain is taking my wasted potential out on my teeth. time will tell, i suppose, although i suspect that my great american novel will be published posthumously.

slipping not falling

i have a problem. i am having increasing difficulty filtering which memories of mine are real and which were part of my subconscious imagination or dreams. this is both bad in real life and in my dreams. remembering things that haven’t happened either makes you quirky or crazy in real life, but it is far worse at night. since i can never be one hundred per-cent sure what is going on, i have to tone down my behavior in the sandbox in my mind. as you can probably imagine, this makes for less exciting dreams where instead of snorting drugs off hooker’s backs i balance my checkbook and politely decline company for the evening.