Soul Food

Ah, if music be the food of love, etc.  I'm not the biggest fan of that ideology really.  I get downright sick of all the stupid love songs that fill the world.  I really think that's why I'm such a big fan of Tom Waits, for who else sings about murders and midgets, circus freaks and small change, the land of the blind and horse-face Ethel.  But that's besides the point.

Music is food for the soul, though.  There are pieces in particular that, like a big cup of tea, act as a balm for me.  This one in particular.  Barber's Adagio for Strings.  No other piece elicits quite the same visceral reaction from me.  Every time I listen to it, not just hear it but listen, I get the usual suspects.  Goosebumps, shivers up my spine.  But in addition to this, it will literally bring tears to my eyes.  Every damn time.  I think one day, it won't affect me anymore, but that hasn't come yet.  And it's the steps building up to the climax that brings the tears, not the mountaintop itself.  It's the journey that brings the emotion, and as the strings near the climax, anticipation takes over and I lose sight of the climb as I wait to see if the strings will make it to the top.

They always do.  I needn't worry.

Some Inferno

Ever get so angry that all you can think is "they may want me to go to hell, but I will drag those bitches with me" only to realize that the only people who are allowed to drag anyone anywhere are those bitches?

This is what unions are for.

In Continuation

While I'm on the topic of shameless friend promotion, here's a music video created by a friend from way back in the Davis days of my history.  Watch it, like it.  There's even a spiffy little review that calls it "dope", which is, dope.

Portland's Wild Ones Pull Out Lightsabers for Their New Visual 

Wild Ones // Paia from Seven Summits on Vimeo.

Best of Times, Worst of Times

So everyone seems to do a throw back Thursday, except for me, apparently.   But today, is different.  Today, I'm feeling nostalgic.  And homesick for my friends I knew back behind the Redwood Curtain.  I was feeling this way last night as well when I decided to peruse a friend's podcast blog, The Futile Podcast.  Ian's podcast is mostly him chatting with various friends about a certain movie or television show, so I get to hear a lot of familiar voices and even participated in a few myself.   I know a big draw for me to these podcasts is mainly sentimental.  I miss Ian.  I miss the people he talks with, the ones I know.  I miss hanging out around a bon fire at his place with my former classmates and working over movies we've seen and shows we watch.

That last memory is one of my favorites, perhaps because Ian's guard was down for once.  Twice he told me, "just move back, dear."  And I was ready to say "OK", drop everything, and move back.  But life gets in the way.  My guy broke up with me, so for the first time since moving, I let myself be in Seattle fully.  And now the thought of uprooting myself again is hard, no matter how much I miss everyone I left behind.  And so, my eternal (and very selfish) quest to convince everyone I love to move closer to me continues, if in vain.

  

All in all, I know these things we talked about weren't deep, heartfelt discussions about the meaning of life.  And maybe they aren't the stuff that "real" relationships are made of, but I miss it all the same.  And I miss the people even more.  So here's to you, Ian.  Thanks for bringing everyone together over a little microphone.
And I say to you, just move up, dear.

A Futile group circa 2010 (Ian's the handsomely stoic one in the chair)

With that, here's a podcast Ian did with me about my one week adventure with Hannah in Egypt three years ago.  It's a longer one, almost 45 minutes.  But if you have some cleaning to do, it could make for something fun to listen to in the background.  Pretend you're listening to Terry Gross interview someone more interesting then myself.

Futile Bonus: Mychal's Egypt Trip