Winter weather blunderland

This last Friday I woke up to the biggest snow that we've seen in over ten years. I was really disappointed because I was supposed to go to Charlotte that day and celebrate my friend's birthday. (Happy Birthday Devin!) I had the weekend off as well, how many times can you manage that? Reluctantly I stayed instead of braving the monsterous storm. However, being stuck at home isn't that much better.

I think snow is only fun when your younger. The older you get the more you learn to see snow as a fluffy nuisance. When your a kid all you have to worry about is school and when that gets canceled you then have time for the more important things in life such as video games, sledding, snow ball fights and hot chocolate. It's only when you grow up and get a job or have friends that aren't right across the block that snow looses some of it's magic.

It gets much worse when you have to shovel the stuff. By then no magic is left and you pretty much hate snow all together. I don't want to sound cynical but it's really hard to love something that has you walled in tighter than the FBI at Branch Davidian.

It was shoveling snow that I spent the most productive parts of my day. During that time I managed to pull myself away from my current dislike of the weather in order to snap a few photos documenting it. These are a few that I shot.

Connected. Or how my iPhone is ruining my life

Recently I acquired a device of masterful capabilities.
I can chat and game, I can surf the web and I can even keep up with my blog like I am doing right now. I am amazed every day at what it does that I often wonder at what it can't. This device is none other than my iPhone (or more specifically my iPod touch but iPhone sounds so much more sophisticated.) iPhones have become so mainstream and ubiquitous that you may be wondering why I am referring to it in mystic, shrouded terms like a cnet writer talking about the lasted electro-gadget. I can't answer that, I guess it's my vain attempt to take up valuable bandwidth talking about my life.

But having this, dare is say godsend, has been revolutionary. I can now do so much at one time. I have now become connected, one step closer to downloading my consciousness into the singularity. I have millions of apps at my fingertips now that encourage me to be more productive. I have a calender, an alarm clock and a thermometer. Now I know that these items individually aren't particularly spectacular enough to write about as they are, but when together in the confines of a sleek, black box suddenly productivity has become cool!

However, this sudden connection has me wondering if too much of a good thing is really a good idea. For instance, my family and I are watching the holiday classic Home Alone. Instead of sitting there and being content with laughing at the antics of a small child as he foils the attempts of two bumbling crooks as they try to rob his parents house I found my self itching to multitask. It seems as if I can't sit and do just one thing anymore. I may have an acute case of onset IIPADD, iPhone induced attention deficit disorder.

I've noticed how much my facebook usage has increased now that I can check and update my status on the fly. I've become one of Those People. You know the ones. They're the people that feel the need to announce every mundane moment of their lives. Now I'm no Ashton Kutcher and I still believe I will never own a Twitter account I just think I can now better understand Those People.

There is a more disturbing occurrence, however, and that is how much this thing is taking me away from my simple pleasures. I should really say that it's worming it's way into how I enjoy them. Those that know me also know how much I love to read. Usually I will bring a book to work to enjoy on my break. Now days it seems the iPhone has taken precedence. Its not that I've chosen to check my mail during my 30 minutes of solace, it's just that I found a way to read on this thing as well. I recently got an app containing two-hundred odd classics. And yes, Moby Dick is one of them. Gaming is another issue. Why play on a console when I have all the virtual rapture I can stand on this?

So I ask is there any redemption for me? Can I find peace? I think so, it just may take time, patience and a lot of thumb exercises. Until then I will love every moment spent with my new favorite friend.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone...was there any quesion?

Life, Death and Sadly Enough Nickleback

I was working the other day,
mindlessly droning away my existence.
The radio was buzzing
the soundtrack to my misery.

Song after song.
Pop hits from yesterday and today
play one after another
again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again...

Suddenly Nickleback's "If today was your last day"
burst the seams of the store's speaker,
cutting through my usual dull disgust
to drill down to my deeply repressed revulsion.

I HATE THIS SONG

This song makes me want to kill myself.
Ironic.
This tonic of suicide inducing sonics
suck the light out of my soul and crush the only thing I know.

Life

Thanks Nickelback, thanks a lot!
Radio trash rock.
Blood clot in the brain of pop.
Chuck Norris look alike is on my butcher block.

"If today was your last day
and tomorrow were too late..."
The muscles in my eye twitch out of frustration
while my heart beats with desperation

I try to fight the nauseating feeling of distress,
the gloom mortification
that comes when I realize
How fruitless my life may be

It's as if Satan himself had penned these lyrics
just for me
in order to drag me down to the world of sorrow and despair
that is his dark wood

Unavoidably my thoughts turn
as I ask myself the question at hand:
if this really was my last day.
What then?

My spirit sinks as I realize
all the things that I haven't done.
All the dreams unfulfilled
and all the love that remains unrequited.

I didn't get around to seeing Dr. Furnish for the last time
to tell her that I still think she is the greatest teacher ever.
And I didn't make it back to school for a degree in
something.

I couldn't travel
to Iceland, Oregon or France
or to see Sigur Ros
and kiss at the crescendo of Ara Bartur.

New friends half a world away
remain unmet.
While Old friends lost to time
were left unreconciled

I never made love
in the summer, in the fall, in the winter, or in the spring.
I never told anyone how much I love them
or how much I needed them.

I wasn't able to see the birth of my first child
and hold her or him in my arms and stare into their beautiful eyes.
I never got the chance to teach my son how to play baseball
or see my daughter off on her first date.

I just wouldn't sit down to write that book,
just to show myself that I could do it.
I rarely worked at something that I loved
because I loved it.

I never learned to treasure each new wrinkle on her face
as we both grow old together.
Nor to learn to just sit and let time go by.
I don't know what true love really means.

I feel all of this in a rush
as that pernicious song
muddles its way through
verse, chorus, verse, and bridge.

It drags my wake
with each of its trite pronouncements.
I feel dead
long before this terrible song ends.

But still the awful question remains,
the one I would that no one ask of themselves.
What might I do
if this were my last night?

I would thank you all
for letting me speak.
I would say that you're doing fine at living
but that you could do better.

I would race to my family.
I'd beg their pardon for all the misdeeds I have done.
I would forgive my parents of their faults
toward me.

I would pray to God,
telling him that I could have done better
and should have done better.
I would ask that he but seal my heart for his.

I would try to find you
just to tell you that I do love you
and that I need you so very much
no matter how silly it may sound.

But no matter what,
I would seek simply to be happy
and learn to feel what is beyond this life
and hope that it is much more exceptional.

However I feel that it is not my time (thankfully).
Many of us, if not all, will live another day.
I would ask that you never live a day as if it were your last.
Instead, persist as if it were your first.

"Be seein' you"

Hello! It has come to my attention as well as my elation that I have a reading audience. That’s right, this means you. I would really like to thank you for taking time out of your busy day working or studying or whatever that you might do to read my sparse musings on the world around me. I know this smells like fan service and it most certainly is. I don’t know how premature this might be, thanking my fans and all, but before this becomes a pompous mess of drool, dribble and self-righteousness I’ll end it here with a well said “it means a lot.”

I have just finished seeing the premier episode of amc’s newest television drama The Prisoner. After watching two of the most refreshing hours of TV I can say what a thundering anvil of a thriller this show is set to be. The Prisoner opens with classic city life intertwined with a man playing hoops with wadded up pieces of paper. This all is snatched away quickly when he suddenly finds himself face down in the middle of a mountainous desert. The man hears gun shots and dog barks while seeing soldiers chasing after an older man in the distance. He is able to catch up with the old man only to learn that he has escaped; from where we soon find out is The Village. The Village is a strange desert town populated by triangular houses, strange people and lots of secrets. The man stumbles upon it and is immediately sent into a race against paranoia and unseen agents of an unknown world.

We learn that this man’s name is 6 and has lived in The Village for some time; in fact he has always lived in The Village despite what he remembers. The Prisoner chronicles 6’s fight between the reality that is before him and the memories he has of a completely different world. 2, the most prominent figure in The Village, becomes very ominous in trying to convince 6 that these thoughts are delusional. 6 encounters various individuals that confess memories very similar to his; memories of iconic buildings or the ocean. Suspense builds as imagination is blended with reality until 6’s sanity begins to fray.

It’s is there that The Prisoner succeeds extraordinarily. Throughout the show we are given brief glimpses of the “other world” provides a parallel story line. Flashbacks from the past occupy 6’s mind as well. That is combined with a world that seems to be in flux with 6’s perception. The effect generated is that you yourself begin to question what is real and what is not. You then feel as paranoid as 6 feels.

That is not the only asset that this show brings to the table. The cinematography is spectacular in framing the desert as a character of its own, taking on the first real role of villainy despite 2’s suspicious actions. There are many other instances of the real photographic quality of some of the shots that The Prisoner chooses to expose. The acting by show leads Jim Caviezel and Ian McKellen are also very polished. Caviezel is able to go from staunch indignation to crippling insanity very easily. McKellen on the other hand is less emotive choosing to keep his character’s motives very secret.

This show is very gripping, one of the best I have seen in years. I’ve learned that it is only a mini-series which is quite a shame. I would love to see what they could do with a whole season to work with. Though the aphorism “less is more” comes to mind when thinking of a few great shows of recent date, most notably Lost and 24. One wonders if the producers should have quit when they were ahead.

The phrase “I’ll be seeing you” is repeated throughout The Prisoner. At one time it was delivered as a subversive salute at another, a sincere and warm (not to mention disturbing) farewell. Whatever the meaning of the slogan it doesn’t matter because, Prisoner, I will be seeing you.

You know If I thought it would be easier I'd go gay. But then I'd have to register at Target, Khol's and Pier 1. It's really way to much trouble than it's worth.

the Ron Paul-Arrested Development conspiracy

You know, there are a few people that ask the question, "How the hell did Ron Paul loose big time in the election?" I don't know the answer but I know it relates to my question that I have: How the hell was Arrested Development ever canceled?

Dear Mr. Paul, my condolences and my thanks.

 

Mr. Paul,
I was really sad to hear of your death Thursday. I wish it didn’t have to be you. I’m sure, though, that you don’t mind. I never knew you and to be honest I wasn’t familiar with your music but it still hurt to hear about it.

I loved your guitars. They were my favorite. I loved they way they looked and felt. I would always slide my hand across the gloss, tracing that big round curve. I also cradled that bottom point thing, whatever it was called. Holding it close to me, I was in love.

I especially liked the way they sounded, rich and saturated. You could make that rig do just about anything. I’ve felt tones, bassy tones, deep inside that once made me want to riot. I’ve also heard music played from it that literally made me cry, like right now and how I want to cry.

But I don’t. I don’t know why, really. I feel a tinge of guilt for not knowing your music better. That’s something that I will have to work on in the future. Till then I’ll just have to enjoy what you gave me. I’ll think of you when I play. I’ll hold the neck in my hand, firmly. I’ll caress the strings, my old rusted strings. I’ll look up and down the beautiful worn body and play a chord, just for you.

Love always,

-



Photo from Time

Marrige for the Future

This last weekend I had the pleasure of witnessing a family member of mine participate in one of the oldest of our social customs, the institution of the highest order: Holy Matrimony. I was grateful for the chance to go and it was really great to see her and her fiancé get married. It was a beautiful service filled with all the familial love and awkward tradition that two young people could ask for. I have always felt that they were a fine couple and I know that their lives will be filled with as much love as they deserve. But whatever pre or post nuptial bliss that existed or will exist between the two of them is little of concern to me. It’s not that I don’t care about them because I do, very much so, and neither do I think that they won’t be happy. On the contrary, I believe the exact opposite that happiness is their highest priority. What brings me the most pleasure in this union is finally at long last having a fellow guy at the dinner table at future family get-togethers. I’ll toast to that!

More to come...

My life is now nearly complete

If you were able to sit next to me right now you would notice one thing, just how big a grin I have on my face. I was just able to see one of my favorite broadcasts, This American Life, preformed live for a nationwide audience. After about a month and a half wait for this I want to say that Ira Glass ‘n crew did not disappoint; it was phenomenal!

I’ve been a keen fan of the show for many years now. I still remember tuning into my public radio station to stumble across the show for the first time. It was the famous episode titled “Act V” where they documented death row inmates that performed Shakespeare’s Hamlet one act at a time. Essentially it was what we can learn from a play about murder done by individuals that knew the subject firsthand. I was captivated instantly. I listened intently all the way home and sat in my car until the show had to stop for a quick station break. I literally rushed into my house screaming to my family, “You gotta listen to this! You gotta listen to this!” I turned on the radio and sat down and listened to the rest of the show.

At the time I had never heard anything like this and when I think about it, I still haven’t heard anything since that is quite like it. From that fateful night I became an avid listener, devouring show after show, looking forward to it week after week. I often told friends about it and I always described it as being an “audio documentary”. For those completely unfamiliar with This American Life it is a public radio broadcast hosted by Ira Glass. Each episode has a theme with stories supporting that theme. The stories, done in “acts” are provided by many contributing writers and range from the quirky, hilarious, disturbing, ironic, and touching. The episodes are colored with various types of music to fit the mood and have interviews of people from all walks of life; it is totally engrossing. With this understanding it’s fair to say that you know how much I was really looking forward to this show, it was literally the highlight of my month.

I must say what a top notch performance the This American Life crew has done to produce this. Every facet of the show was amazing. Those that arrived early were treated with the credits intermingled with witty word play games of hangman, fill in the blank and word mix up. The animation was creative as well as the word play itself. I may have to invent the award for “Best Opening Credit Sequence” just so I can award it to them.

The rest of the show went just as stellar. Fans were finally able to see how Ira Glass does the show. His large desk adorned with audio equipment, he dramatically cues in each sequence and, almost diabolically, dials in the levels while adding the scripted commentary. It was much more complicated than I had imagined and gave me the feeling more of a dance hall DJ than a quiet radio host.

The theme of tonight’s show was Return to the Scene of the Crime and it was in five acts. Act one was by Mike Birbiglia about marriage and a certain, very unfortunate car wreck. Act two was an extremely surrealistic animated short by Chris Ware with music by Andrew Bird. In Act three Starlee Kine told us her experiences at a therapeutic retreat center. Act four was provided by Dan Savage, a story about losing his religion as well as his mother. And in act five Joss Whedon wrapped us up with a piece from his musical “Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog.”

I found all the stories richly entertaining and they were even more intimate than on the radio. This is a give in knowing that you can actually see what’s going on this time. But because it was a live show it had that great unpredictability. Whether it was Ira’s unscripted banter or how some of the speakers stumbled over their words; it was all great. What made a deep impression on me was the story of his mother by Dan Savage. He became emotional several times as he told of her death, it was particularly moving.

It was hard for me to have the end come so soon. I could have had it last for hours on end; I’m that dedicated a fan. I say so soon like it was short but clocking in at around an hour and a half made for a hearty show. I don’t know what the industry has as far as awards go for things quite like this but I think this episode deserves one. By far this is one of their best and it is deserving of the credit.

Now after exhausting every adjective for the word “good” that I know of I will close this review by saying again how truly amazing this performance was. It was two thumbs up for sure.

P.S. If anyone reading this that is affiliated with This American Life or Chicago Public Radio in the very least, I want to let you know that my life may never be complete till you release a DVD of this night’s showing. Pass the word, thanks.

I'm back/things I just discovered.

As I look at this thing I just realized that it's nearly been half a year since I have made a post. That's pretty embarrassing I have to say. I'm not embarrassed for keeping faithful readers at bay because it's not like anybody reads this anyway. I guess it's more of a feeling of loss at all the things that have happened in the past six months that would have been good to write about.

I've always been prone to do that. Get into writing, write a lot and then all of a sudden stop. Maybe it can be fixed later on in life. That is precisely what has happened this time. I hit a wall really, and I just haven't felt the same since. That's not vary important right now.

I'm just going to get it out, I just discovered that my best friend from elementary school is dating my high school crush. It feels very hollow to know this. I don't know what it means to me. The only thing that I can find that's certain is how truly ironic is that two different people that were close to me at very different times in my life are now in a relationship.

They say that it's a very small world and in some ways it is. What I think is that we just have very small lives.