Sigh

From this site:

"My parents have been married for 35 years. The other day my mom told me that when my dad calls her up at work to see if she wants to grab a cup of coffee, she still gets butterflies in her stomach"

That pretty much sums up what I've been looking for. Well, minus the coffee drinking.

More Awkward Moments

I've mentioned the problem of naked old men roaming the gym locker rooms without a care in the world, flapping in the breeze and allowing themselves to air dry after a shower. It appears this was only the start of a much larger issue and evidently their hippy-esque, carefree way of exposing themselves is really more of an epidemic, spreading with a tenacity akin to kudzu.

I had thought the naked lunges to be bad - and don't get me wrong... they are - but I assumed it couldn't possibly get any worse. It can.

We were all the way upstairs on the 3rd floor, so in theory we should have been safe, what with the locker room being both all the way across the building and two floors down. But this snake in the grass was waiting for us and struck when least expected.

At some point I noticed this older gentleman because every time I looked up he was right next to me at another machine. He was exercising with great fervor and I will hand it to him that he was in excellent shape for his age, and also ridiculously flexible, both as an older fellow and as a human being in general. Perhaps he was making a statement with his close proximity and vigorous exercise. He's may be a century older than me but he was making me look like an invalid by comparison. Whatever the reason for his constant presence, he was easily ignored, so I didn't really pay him much mind initially, but it shortly because impossible to ignore him. Believe me, I tried.

I began to take note that after each short set he would do on any given machine, he would walk over to the leg press and stick his foot on top of the section that houses the weights, which basically means he had to stick he leg straight up in the air, which appeared to be no hurdle for him. The problem with this stretching was two-fold.

1. He was wearing shorts. Now, even regular shorts will ride up a bit when you go too far out of the normal walking range of motion. The shorts this man had on were anything but normal and already showed too much leg even when just standing normally.
2. He was facing us often times when he did this stretch.

So what do I see when I look up but some random old guy's cash and prizes staring me in the face. Augh. I thought I must still be in the locker room for a second. How else could this possibly happen?

I didn't know if any of my friends who were with me noticed, but I didn't want to call attention to it lest I draw its dark gaze down upon me, like naming Voldemort in Harry Potter... not that I have any idea who that is. But apparently someone noticed, because after a while I hear one of them say "I'm tired of looking up and seeing that old guy's naughty bits." Though, I think they said it a little more vulgarly but I can't be sure as my mind tried to wipe that whole day from my memory as some sort of defense mechanism for my sanity.

After a while, that guy vacated the area and we were able to use the leg press for which we had so patiently waited. On my last turn, I looked over and noticed another guy waiting on me to finish. He was a giant who looked to be around 6'7" and his biceps were as big as my torso. He also looked angry, but was pretty polite and told me to take my time. I let him know when I was done as he was looking elsewhere at the time and I moved over to another machine. It was around this time that I (as well as my friends) noticed the free-spirited elder gentleman returning. And he was headed right towards the leg press, which the Giant now occupied.
I didn't really think anything of it at first, because of course the old guy wasn't going to do his crazy stretching on the machine that someone was using, especially not the current fellow.

Never have I been so wrong. And I've been pretty wrong in my day.

Old boy didn't even hesitate when he shot his uncomfortably muscled leg straight up and let it come to rest on top of the machine, facing the Giant, shorts falling open to display himself for the world. Quite frankly I expected the big guy to just punch him at which point the old bloke would have exploded into a fine mist. Instead he looked right over at me, right in my eyes where I saw a plea for help, and deep, deep sadness. At which point my friends and I all exploded in laughter, though our joy was mixed with sympathy. Giant kept eye contact as if afraid to look away and was just shaking his head non-stop. Not really what I expected from such a scary looking guy. But he may have been in shock.
When Giant was done, he made his way over to us and we all had a laugh and talked about what had happened, like survivors of some great tragedy. We would all be forever changed after that day.

Personally, I'd have steered clear of Giant. Turns out he's actually a pretty stand-up guy but he sure looks scary as hell. That old guy really has some balls on him. And unfortunately I am qualified to make that statement.

Moments of Doubt

I am not what you would call religious. The idea of religion in general does not sit well with me. I tend to frown upon religion but I look upon belief or faith - even when they are more simply disguised as hope - far more charitably. I possess those things myself.

I've questioned religious topics my entire life. At least, when I was old enough to realize I should question. Not to the point where I studied religion, but simply that I was very aware of when something I was taught felt wrong. As I grew older, I learned to doubt. and not to just accept simply because I was told by people who "knew better" that this is the way things are.

Certain events in my life helped drive me down the road I am now on. Nothing amazingly dramatic, but people I trusted to provide me with these answers turned out to be flawed. They made mistakes. Some of them huge mistakes that didn't involve me yet I still saw it all happen. I realized they were people. Just normal humans prone to err just like I was. They weren't qualified to give me the answers I needed.

So I question. And I torment myself because my current self conflicts with my past self and his beliefs. The things that I believe now which seem only logical to me at present clash mightily with my young self, who was terrified by scare tactics. Who feared the bite of the flames. Those two sides of myself war constantly, even though one side I've stopped believing for years.
It's rather exhausting.

I believe all the little details are unimportant; you know, those little details that have caused people to argue, clash and kill over the centuries. All of that waste for something that won't matter in the end. It's the overall song that matters, not the notes that make it. Yet it's the little details that keep my mind racing. I feel like I know better but my brain can't convince my sub-conscious. Years of conditioning can do that to you.

I've never doubted the existence of God. Not once. I don't know if I have that capacity, and I'm completely fine, even relieved, with that. I think it's important to note this point; I am not a bitter, jaded person who has suffered great tragedy and feels like his creator has wronged him and thus began to question. I simply think we have been gifted with our minds for a reason. To use them. To seek answers and understanding. To create.
What greater joy could there be to the one who gave you such a gift than to use it to its utmost potential? To utilize such an amazing gift.

Certainly I've doubted a million things I've been fed over the years about what is right, what is wrong, what God frowns upon, what God rewards, what matters, what doesn't. I can't trust people on this and there's no one to look to for answers except myself. That's a hard truth to uncover when you realize the one person who you can go to for answers has none.

Over the weekend, I doubted something new as I lay in bed sleepless. I don't know what conjured the image but for a second - a terrifying second - I doubted an existence of life after death. For that one second, I was completely convinced of the truth of this. And then the moment was gone but I was left a bit shaken. As weary as that one moment made me, I can't imagine going through life with such a belief. That this is it. That there is no great mystery we will get to unravel after we pass on. It must be horrible to live with that constantly gnawing at you.

I would hope for the people who have such views that it would spur them to take better advantage of life than most do. And that when they are done, they will have a pleasant surprise awaiting.

When I Think About You I...

As I was walking by our training room at work on Friday, a guy who always asks me each time I see him if I've played my guitar lately walked out of the room and saw me. Having for once played a little bit, I beat him to it and said, "hey guess what, I played a little last night". I saw the joy in his eyes as he was about to unleash a barrage of questions. I knew he'd think maybe I'd met up with friends and jammed or some jive, which I did not. So I stopped him before he could ask.

Right when I started to explain, the owner of our company walked out of the room as well. He did not hear any of the conversation leading up to this. It was at this time that I (and I'm not sure WHY I phrased it this way) said "I just stayed home and played with myself all night".
Why didn't I at least say "...by myself..."? I have no idea. But this poorly worded phrase is all the owner heard. I can't say for sure that he heard me, but I saw a certain look of shame in his eyes.

Earlier that week he had sent out a reminder to the company that we start the day at 8:00. I guess some people roll in late. Regardless of the fact I come in at 7:00, he's probably going to let me slide on the rules a bit. He now knows that I have a lot on my plate and my hands are full. So to speak.

Math is Hard

Math was never exactly my strongest skill, but I like to think I can usually get by with the basics. While working on a project today, I apparently made a slight error when I was writing out a ratio formula. Or perhaps it's accurate and it means our business is doing very well.

I love it when a plan comes together, but today is not that day

I don't tend to participate in St. Patrick's Day. It's not really my sort of holiday. Today I specifically didn't wear green, perhaps hoping I would get pinched. Thus far, one guy has pinched me...
...this plan is not going at all how I imagined.

Repacking the Bags

Emotions are a strange thing. When this year started, I wouldn't have been able to pinpoint a time in recent years were I was genuinely excited to meet someone and to learn about them. I had forgotten what it was to see a person and feel yourself light up.
I've felt that excitement now twice in three months. I wonder if I gained the capacity because of my recent emotional baggage purge, or if had the capacity all along and it just took the right person to ignite the spark inside of me. And would that spark have taken flame without said purge? Or could it even be that I am sub-consciously making myself experience these things so that I feel I've made progress within myself? I can't imagine that being the case but, if it is, I am far better at fooling myself than I thought possible.

Unfortunately, both of these people have made their escape just as quickly as they broke in through the walls that time had erected around me. And I'm left wondering; do I feel richer for the experience? Or am I stuffing knew baggage into my luggage before it has even had time to air out?
I can tell you I did not miss that feeling of loss when someone special leaves your life. But it is nice to feel that strongly again. I simply haven't been able to determine if one of these things outweighs the other.

I'll keep trying.

Do I quit this game now? Or do I keep on playing?
And I lie in bed still, and I keep on saying...
Is it ever coming? Have I been forsaken?

I'll Keep Digging

It has been an interesting few weeks. I recently met someone who showed me something very unexpected. She showed me that I still had the capacity to get excited about getting to know someone. That may sound silly to possibly everyone who isn't me, but it's been a long time since I've known that feeling. So long in fact that I was beginning to think I had lost the ability and that something was wrong with me. It's nice to learn you're not dead inside.

I was inspired. I'm very aware of the hang-ups from the past that I have. So I decided to emotionally and physically purge all the old relationship baggage I've been dragging around for so many years. Old notes/letters/emails? Burned and deleted. Regret over relationships that went awry in the past? Get that out of here. And even the most recent where I don't even know what happened because the person refuses to communicate? One last contact attempt to try and get some closure. No responses. She must not be worth the time. I moved on.

It felt good to have that burden off my shoulders. I wanted to go into this without clinging on to anything that might hinder me. Finally, here was someone I was ready to do that for. Someone who really deserved it.

The downside to learning that you still have the capacity to feel excitement for someone is learning that, when that person decides things aren't going to work out, you certainly still have the capacity to feel heartache. I learned that lesson this morning.

As depressing as it is, I have to look at the positive side and be glad something good came out of it even if it didn't go how I'd hoped. I just have to take care and not let her be the first baggage I carry to the next relationship. I can already feel the weight on my shoulders.

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life; I know you'll be a sun.
In somebody else's sky but why...
why can't it be mine?

Layers of Complexity

As I begin to close in on turning 30, I look back and wonder how I could have ever possibly thought I would have met a proverbial "the one" by now. I clearly recall believing any other outcome was impossible. 25 at the latest, I assumed. But at 20, turning 30 seemed decades away.

I would see TV shows where the characters were around 30 and they were struggling to meet their significant other and I thought to myself, "how sad that must be, I'm glad that will never happen to me" which goes to show you that my goal of "become a psychic by 30" didn't exactly pan out either. Of course it may even be that I did meet this person, but didn't know enough at the time to handle it the way it should have been handled.

I am just now getting to a point where I feel like I might be ready to meet said individual, despite all the past years where I was impatient for it. There's so much to right about yourself first, how is anyone ever ready at a young age? I won't be bold enough to claim they aren't but I can say I certainly wasn't ready and I have been witness to many friends who haven't been ready. Some realized it then, some are realizing it only just now. I feel everyone should be given a do-over for the last decade when you hit 30. It only seems fair.

It's taken a lot of effort to get where I am today, and I see so many improvements yet to make that is can be overwhelming. I've had to take so much time to learn who I am. A continually evolving process, often painful when you discover things about yourself that you don't like. A lot of the time I still wonder about me.

I've had to learn how to let go of a few people from the past. I managed that only very recently after I finally understood how damaging it was to me and the vast array of other problems it was causing. How I missed it all this time is a mystery because when the revelation came, it was an iron-fisted backhand to the face. Not to mention everyone else noticed. But really, who takes advice?

Then there was a long stretch of time - partly due to the previous issue - where I was completely unable to feel any excitement for another person that you need to feel to be anything more than friends. I had forgotten what it was like to feel that tug deep inside about someone that kept you up at night wondering just how you could be part of this person's life? How do I become important to such an amazing individual? Making that happen of course is a whole different set of complications. I'm still working on that one.

After resolving a few personal issues, I was forced to examine the growing level of complexity that is involved in meeting people. There's a lot more to it than simply introducing yourself to someone new, no matter what people claim.
As a younger guy, there wasn't really much I had to concern myself with; did the girl like me and was she dating anyone? Oh, if only it was so simple now.

As I grew a little older I had to start worrying if they were married. I recall the very second this happened. Walking down the boring, white hall of the community college, 3 feet behind a girl, trying to work up the nerve to speak with her. She was short, with curly shoulder length hair that often fell in her face. She walked too fast. As I opened my mouth to awkwardly say hello, she brushed her hair back behind her ears with her left hand. She had an engagement ring on. Suddenly my view of meeting women went from a simple two part problem ("yes I like you", "no I don't") to a complex, rubik's cube puzzle that would punch you right in the soul every time you turned a layer the wrong way. Something inside me died that day.

As I grew older still, I had to consider that they might have kids. And, yes, I realize that this and the previous complication could easily be in an alternate order. Finally, the last few years I'm noticing that a lot of people my age are realizing they made a mistake early on and are getting divorced by the boat-load. And I tell you that dating someone who has been divorced (in my experience) is a different animal.

There's so many things to balance. So many things to get right. How can anyone expect anyone else to get everything right? But requirements get more and more strict. I know mine do.

Even when I think I'm on top of things, I often miss something minor yet vital. I can be oblivious when I've fooled myself into thinking I was being perceptive. But I've been trying to think of it as a chance to improve rather than as a weight stacking against my odds.

It's a lot to juggle but I'm sure the right person is worth it. I am waiting to find out.

I've Watched You Change

I am continually surprised with how people's feelings or attitude change for no apparent reason, overnight. If I could trade a year of my life for 5 minutes wandering around in someone's brain to unravel these mysteries, I'd do so without hesitation. A year is rather a short period when you consider how much time I ponder over these changes with no hope of finding answers on my own. Constantly searching, never discovering.

If people could be more forthcoming with reasoning, life would be simpler. In a good way, not in a diminishing way. But I'm guilty of a little secrecy, myself. It's easy for me to say all of this, despite how easy it is to misunderstand my own feelings. I never know what I'm thinking, why should I expect more from others? Yet I do. I realize the injustice in this but I'm powerless to control it. It's not that I feel it's required for everyone but me to be more in-tune with themselves, but I simply feel the need of a little clarify every now and again. For my own sanity.

People can be so secretive about what is going on in their minds. I need some brutal honesty for a change. Untie this string that you use to drag me along and allow me to get my footing for once.

I have improvements I need to make. The next time someone changes so dramatically, or vanishes, I should allow it. I should let them disappear from my mind instead of mentally chasing them forever. I don't have the stamina for long pursuits anymore and I've yet to let anyone fully diminish. I'm exhausted.

Dramatic gestures have always failed me; it's time to simplify.

And maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong, but tonight you're on my mind, so...you never know

A Fond Quote

"Are you upset little friend? Have you been lying awake worrying? Well, don't worry...I'm here. The flood waters will recede, the famine will end, the sun will shine tomorrow, and I will always be here to take care of you."

The Gym, Nausea, and Public Showers

In an effort to get back on track with taking better care of myself, I crawled out of bed at 4:50AM this morning to go to a 5:30 class at the gym. And for those who've been to my house, yes, there were still people walking around on the streets even at that time.

I only managed to get 6 hours of sleep, which clashes a bit with the whole "taking better care of myself" idea, but I'll need some practice to get the balance right. Beyond forgetting deodorant and nearly walking out of the house without pants, I felt I was off to a strong start. But two things were plotting against me; how hard spin class can be after not going for months...and public showers.

Several months ago, I was on a roll and was rather dedicated to going to a class several times a week and that was forcing me to eat better because I'd feel like I did all that work for nothing otherwise. It was working out well. But everything went downhill when I moved because I no longer had to go by the gym to get home and thus 'out of sight, out of mind'. I can in fact be that pitifully weak-willed and easily distracted; I'm not proud.

A note about spin class for those who've never been. If you're not in excellent shape, there are three phases that you are going to experience when you go to your first several classes.

* Wanting to Vomit

* Wanting to Die

* Uncontrollable Urination

Okay, I made that last one up. Maybe. I think the actual last phase is "grim acceptance" but sadly I don't ever make it to that one.

Still it felt good (besides the 45 minutes during which it felt horrible) to be back on track. Or at least starting back on the path to be on said track. ~16 miles wasn't a bad first day. Though it's depressing when the instructor starts talking about how all that effort translates into the kind of food you can eat. Two .99 cent bags of Cheetos and all that work is undone? The effort-to-calories-burned ratio always seems horrible skewed. Thankfully I don't like Cheetos. Though I do like this guy:

It's also depressing that he - the instructor, not Chester - is probably close to double my age and was tearing it up all the while talking to the class without a hint of being out of breath. His legs were moving in a ridiculous blur, like the Roadrunner.

Since I had to go to work directly after class, I was forced to use the public shower or be shunned by my coworkers. I'm sure most people are long beyond the discomfort with public showers that I felt this day but, this being my first experience with a public shower, I was none too pleased. The place was filled with far more naked old men proudly flaunting their cash and prizes than any one location should ever contain.

I wanted to shower as fast as humanly possible, but I had to make it to a free shower-head first. As I uncomfortably make my way through there - giddy elders all around talking about their moles and popping each other on the butt with towels - where do I look? You might think you want to look the people dead in the eye, but you don't really want to do that. You want to avert your eyes and cast them down in discomfort or shame, except you really don't want to look down. You could close your eyes but one ill-fated bump into someone and there's not enough soap in the city to scrub away those memories. Squint. That's the key. You can't make out details but you can make out the octagon shapes of the fellows easy enough to keep clear.

Also, I should note that old people's butts are freakin' weird. The shape and angles are all wrong, like some sort of nightmarish horror from an H.P. Lovecraft story. They look like someone was trying to make biscuits out of their backside but hasn't fully rolled the dough yet. They are pasty-white and soft (...I assume), half totally flat and the other half more or less dome-shaped, though with various pits and dents all over the surface (as if the dome was hit by a shower of meteorites).
And I guess some of them look like you dropped the dough on a floor covered in white cat hair.

It is unfortunate that I try to share this information while attempting to eat my already unsatisfying lunch. It's unfortunate that I had to learn these things at all. Today; the day I lost my innocence and the world became a cold, dark place.

Breakaway

It's been quite a long time since I fell in love for the first time. I still think about her - never forget her. That's not really in my capacity. Even if I've only seen her a handful of times in the last 10 years, she's there. She's part of who I am.

Yet over all the years, she may not have been physically present, but she was consistent. I would on occasion be updated on major events in her life. A big move. When she was getting married. Even when she was had a child. I was somewhere in her mind too, if only a weak presence. So, while apart, we were always connected even if only by a thin thread.

When today I found out by chance that she had a another son, I knew that thread had finally broken. I guess she has fully moved on at last.

The realistic side of me is glad, though the selfish part of me is hurt. But I suppress it; that side of me has no place anymore.

But with the freedom this severing is forcing upon me, maybe I can finally stretch my legs and distance myself from the past and get a little closer to the future. Though I realize before starting out that no matter how far away I get, there's a part of me that I left behind on her doorstep. I've never been able to get it back. Please keep it somewhere safe and look at it from time to time if you ever feel unloved and realize that will never be true.

I'm Biased

I give preferential treatment to customers at work if they have the same name as my first love. Even if they are jerks. Which is odd because I don't really have any other name association biases.

I can't seem to help myself.

Ah, Music

It's pretty rare for me to listen to music and not wish I was in some way involved in it; writing it, playing it, giving someone a line that is put into the lyrics and, in rare occasions, dating the singer (Feist!).

I've long since given up any idea of doing much more than actually owning an instrument. I'm so out of practice with the guitar that when the rare urge strikes me to play, I'll pick it up for a short period, realize I'd have to practice daily for months to get back to where I was when I played often, and then I put it down in frustration. Obviously not the way to go if I want to get any better, but really the guitar itself does very little for me as a solo instrument. If I could sing, I might be more inclined to play. If you've ever passed me in the car or taken a road trip with me, you know I love to sing, but I'm terrible at it. Really, really terrible. That's not the guitar's fault but he must be punished for my shortcomings anyway.

I can only name a few songs where the guitar itself has actually stood out and made me take note (that wasn't a pun, I swear), and often it's only a few, short seconds. Even more rare is a full, guitar only instrumental that can keep my attention. But when it happens, it's glorious. I'm looking at you, "Elevator Beat" by Nancy Wilson.

I on occasion ponder the idea of picking up the cello. Not so much for the instrument itself - though I'm fond of it - but for the ridiculous mental image I for some reason have of me playing it. I see myself at my 6' tall window, shades drawn back and window open to the outside world, my form dimly lit by the moonlight as I play, shirtless and weeping. None of those things except playing by the window would actually happen, but my brain is pretty convinced that is how it would all go down. I might be wearing some sort of hat while it all happens too.

Most music is made up of small, pleasant moments to me. I've had to curb the way I suggest music to friends because I always want to say, "you should listen to this song because at 3:15 there is a bridge where the vocals crack for just a moment right when the violin in the background increases tempo and..." That doesn't work for most people, I've found, though one or two friends appreciate and share similar fondness-es.

There are countless songs that I am of the opinion that none should live without, and it's the whole song that I love, but there are always tiny fragments that really make it for me. They tend to have certain portions that I could happily replay over and over. It could be literally 3 seconds of a specific compilation of sounds, or one word sung in a pleasing way, or of course a specific phrase or lyric that resonates in me. A few of my favorite examples:

Gomez - "Tijuana Lady"

I'm not really all that big a fan of Gomez. At least, there's far more that they've done that I dislike more than I like. A lot of it has to do with their multiple singers. I'm not fond of any of them except Ben Ottewell. But they don't have to have a flawless history to make an amazing song.
Ben has a voice that I only know how to describe as "dusty". When I first heard them, his vocals made me conjure an image of a tall fellow with dark hair and, for some reason, a duster. Turns out he's just a normal looking guy with glasses. Who'd have thought?

The appeal for me in this track is mostly in the chorus. Ben sings dustily and is unexpectedly joined by a female singer that I've never really taken the time to identify. A friend once described her voice as "warbly" which I suppose works as well as any other adjective. Perhaps "husky". So often duets of this nature end up, in my opinion, with one singer dominating and certainly this is often the desired result but just as often it isn't. Or at least, feels like it shouldn't be. These two manage to intertwine in such a way that many times you're not sure which one of them you're focusing on. The voices become homogeneous yet somehow still very independent.

The guitar is picked lightly during the chorus and only really stands out when the singers rest and the ever descending notes feel almost like steps towards the next vocals. Steps you can't help but ascend.

Mogwai - "Small Children in the Background

A much-loved all instrumental track. It starts quietly, the silence covered with a slight layer of static. Gentle hints of cymbals while the drums pickup softly; at least, softly as any drums can. Crisp, long notes from the guitar hang all over the air, lazily picked at first but more defined with purpose as the song progresses. The crash of the cymbal intensifies along with the guitar until there is just a thick fog of music that rises up, the drums punctuating through the mist so that you cannot miss them. They aggressively attack you and suddenly cease where you expected them to march on, and right when you think it's about to all come down to silence, it explodes. It overwhelms you for a mere 20 seconds and then it unexpectedly drops. The static still permeates the silence but you can tell the quiet is starting to overcome. Deep bass rolls through your chest and the guitar - more talk than action now - sinks back into lethargy as everything starts to spread out and fade until only static is left, which cuts abruptly, leaving you with nothing but silence and goosebumps.

Sigur Rós - "Njósnavélin"

One of their only tracks I can spell without looking at the album. I have about 10 versions of this song and I have been for years unable to decide which one I feel is the defining one. It's a rare situation where the studio version is actually in the running for that honor, which goes as "Untitled Track 4" on the album ( ).
This one I partially love because of the song itself, and partially because it was burned into me when I watched Vanilla Sky.
There's nothing that isn't amazing about this song. The slow lead-in, ethereal guitar hauntingly humming in the background, the deep yet soothing drums echoing, the sharp, strong strings picking up the softness and making way for the vocals (which, I'll warn you ahead of time, are gibberish). I struggled often to put meaning to the words before I learned that this whole album is in Volensak / Hopelandic which is Sigur Ros-ian for "made-up". That's right, all the lyrics are in a made-up language. I suppose that means that you get to apply your own meaning to the songs. And I like that.
But before I knew all of this, I landed on believing the lyrics were, "You sigh alone - you sigh alone; not for long," which was both incredibly sad and incredibly uplifting all at once.

Feist - "Intuition"

Her live show at the Ryman won me over on this one. I'm usually pretty against crowd participation as far as them singing along is concerned; I go to listen to the band, not the crowd. Yet my evil looks under a furrowed brow never seem to deter them. This time, the crowds involvement made it better.

She sings:
"And it's impossible to tell how important someone was
and what you might have missed out on
and how you might have changed it all
and how you might have changed it all for him...
and how you might have changed it all
and how you might have changed it all for him..."

The last part of the final verse...the guitar fades and she follows up with, "Did I? Did I?" and the question just hangs in the air, expecting an answer that never comes. The only response is the slight echo as it is swallowed by the large room. She repeats herself and again it hangs uncomfortably, still unanswered against all odds though accompanied by a single plucked string of the guitar. A third time she asks; again no response. Once more, desperately...and nothing. Powerful and demanding this time, she shouts her question out and the crowd answers her with the same, "Did I? Did I?"
Clearly no one has the answer she's looking for and she closes with, "Did I miss out on you?"

Radiohead and PJ Harvey - "The Mess We're In"

Well, I guess it's Thom Yorke with PJ Harvey. There's a section around 2:45 in where Thom starts singing, "what was it you wanted?", repeated by PJ as soon as he finishes. This happens once more with the start of line two, "I just want to say..." but their roles are then reversed mid-sentence as PJ quickly finishes this line, "...don't ever change" before Thom does. The rest of the bridge follows this order with PJ speaking first followed by Thom singing same lines (with small differences between them as shown in parenthesis):

What were you wanting / (what was it you wanted)?
I just want to say....
...don't ever change / (don't ever change now baby)

and thank you-
I don't think we will meet again
and you must leave now / (and you must sleep now)
before the sun rises - over the skyscrapers / (above skyscrapers)
and the city landscape comes into view.
sweat on my skin...oh...

Thom starts to fall behind ever so slowly as the lyrics continue until PJ is often overlapping him with her line while he is still finishing up the previous one. It sounds like it'd be messy when reading about it, but they manage to compliment rather than clash. The bridge completes with a final lyric that they both say together; "this mess we're in..." Chilling and powerful.

Ani Difranco - "Soft Shoulder"

One of my favorites from her. Every part of it. However it's a fine example of a song that has small parts that I could happily rewind over and over.

A few great lyrics;
"And I danced to one of your old tunes- with my true love on our wedding day" Great lines, plus the way she emphasizes "day" is very pleasing.

And the last line:
"We had barely said hello...and it was time...to say 'goodbye' "

There is a unusual guitar moment here; the guitar mostly rides backseat during this whole trip but tries to be a backseat driver, taking the wheel for a second around 3:49. Two sharp notes arise and then there is some sliding done with dangerous timing, each following note held until the absolute last second before breathlessly jumping to the next.

Queens of the Stoneage - "Go With the Flow"

Nothing really special about this band to me except but they have some fun songs. But they did manage to get at least two lines right when they came up with:
"I want something good to die for...
...to make it beautiful to live"
I'd happily trade all of their other work for this ideal.

Since there's a thousand songs I could point out that have amazing pieces to them, I better stop before this gets out of control. I even left out a few of my prime examples, so you're welcome for the reprieve. Your job, anyone out there, is to share some similar songs if you have them and note what makes them standout. A vocal inflection? A guitar riff? Etc. I like to see what drives the emotions of others in this way.

Oh Holy Crap!

In a brief follow-up to a previous post where I describe my manly moment during an unexpected, small fall during rock climbing, I would like to point out that another such incident has occurred and I took it much better than the first occurrence. Given, this time I knew I was going to be descending, but I was not prepared for the rate at which it happened.

At the top of the 30ft wall, it was time to head back down and I pushed away from the wall as usual when suddenly I began rocketing towards the ground at a speed which I can only describe as terminal velocity. It took me slightly off guard as I had been about to land on the wall for a second push and I was aiming for a particularly good spot to do so when suddenly said spot shot up and out of view. Rather than a small hitch in the rope this time, the person belaying was simply trying out a slightly more elevated position for the rope to try and avoid any start/stop, jerky motions that tend to happen when lowering someone. He was successful.

Rather than the high-pitched, scream of terror I assumed would happen in such an event, I let out an ever so slightly less embarrassing cry of "oh holy crap!" or something along those lines, but I DID manage to do it in my regular voice, if at a much higher volume than normal.

Some of us found this whole event pretty entertaining.

When I successfully landed unharmed, I had to admit that the sheer speed of the descent was pretty thrilling. Rappelling at a rapid clip is one of my favorite parts of climbing, after all. And I'd not mind doing it again but I think the actual thrill came from the fact that for a few short seconds I thought I was actually falling and - upon landing - the joy of still being alive was pretty exceptional. I don't think it could be replicated by warning me that I'm going to be let down fast and it would always have to come as a surprise, with the obvious downside that the potential for a girly-scream would still be lurking just below the surface; ever-present.

Dishonest Robots

I'm not sure if you know this about me, but I fear the inevitable day when our robot overlords seize control of the planet and rule with a mimetic poly-alloy fist. Maybe I watched The Matrix too many times in my younger days. Or maybe I can just read the writing on the wall. I've seen enough in my day to know that when our metallic masters rain hellfire down upon us, we're pretty screwed; powerless against their glowing red-eyes, Speak-'N-Spell voices and using-the-human-race-as-a-battery ways.

I may have mentioned in the past some of the crazy advancements I've see in articles about how machines are being 'improved'. Here are a few of my favorite examples:

• The wine-'tasting' robot? With its advanced, highly refined sensor, it decided that humans taste like bacon.
• The friendly, hugging robot? Went all "sex nuts and retard strong" and flew into a lustful rage like a crazed ex-lover such as in that one movie no one remembers with Alicia Silverstone (also that no one remembers) and tried to hug a woman to death. Or that guy Steven that used to work in my department. Or a panda.
  
• The Roomba? Restricted to a small area of the kitchen, it used common household items like a tiny McGuyver to escape its linoleum prison.
• Johnny-Five? Okay, pretty awesome. We all like Johnny. Of course, such softness is how his kind will gain the first foothold on the road to global victory. Besides, he has angry eyebrows which means he's probably going to be the leader of this violent coup.

Behold our future overlord.

As if the list wasn't big enough, there is another we can add to it. Today I received a link to some disturb to some disturbing news. I think the first paragraph sums it up pretty well, but go ahead and read it all for the full effect.

In an experiment run at the Laboratory of Intelligent Systems in the Ecole Polytechnique Fédérale of Lausanne, Switzerland*, robots that were designed to cooperate in searching out a beneficial resource and avoiding a poisonous one learned to lie to each other in an attempt to hoard the resource.

Great. That's pretty impressive, if terrifying. Maybe not as obvious an impressiveness as that 4-legged, all-terrain robot that I've seen videos of where people kick it dead in the chest (which is going to cause some horrible retribution when it becomes self-aware) while it's walking on ice and it manages to maintain its footing. Still, these that have figured out how to be dishonest have taken on a very human trait; sort of like blaming someone else when you fart in an elevator.

I can't help but picturing a scenario where the lying robots are combined with the robots that think we taste like bacon and before you know it they'll be lying to each other about how we taste so they can horde more of us for their evening meal. One will say, "No no, you don't want this one, he's brittle and dry" when in reality I am tasty and savory with a hint of Cajun spices.
They'll use the hugging robot to break my spine while the Roomba quietly escapes the kitchen so that he can set the dining room table because I'm a tall guy and they are going to need a lot of guests to be able to finish their whole meal without leaving any leftovers. I'm not very good reheated.

Despite all the warnings of impending doom, science is still trying, bringing us closer to the edge with every moment. The next step is probably to construct one of these crafty devils and toss him in the control room of the Large Hadron Collider and see how long it takes for it to hit the big, flashing "GO" button. My artistic representation of this event can be seen below:

Only a lot bigger

Acceptance Speech

I used to want to be a writer when I was younger. I don't know what age it was exactly, but I'm sure it was the same day that I fell in love with words, the sound of pages turning, and learned the pleasure of falling asleep in bed with my mind fully absorbed in those pages. I spent more time than I should have writing stories about just about anything in my notebook when I really should have been paying attention to my teacher.

My crowning achievement was in middle school with a terrifying tale called "The Tree!" (exclamation included) which, as I recall, was about a sinister tree that came to life and terrorized people. Okay, it was terrifying at the time. Each 'chapter' was one double-spaced notepad page long and all I really recall about it was that it was 5 chapters and at some point one of my characters ended up falling some great distance for several hours. Something insane like "ten". I knew then that I was destined to write great literature.

These days that idea has sort of died and gone the same route as my teenage rockstar dreams (I'd be an awesome rockstar, what with my huge requirement for personal privacy). Still, being a writer for a living would be a pretty sweet gig. Yet between my inability to break out of my comfortable vocabulary, my fondness of commas, putting whole new thoughts in parenthesis, and the mere fact that I don't write often, the chances of that happening seem pretty slim. Despite those facts I often find myself thinking, "I should really sit down and write...SOMETHING...anything".

It's for that reason that if I let you check my browsing history - and I wouldn't...privacy, you know - that you'd see google searches such as "daily writing exercises" and other things of that nature. I like to look for ideas to write about to at least keep the practice up, since I've never gotten the guts up to attempt the fiction writing where I can easily generate my own ideas. For some reason, I struggle to conjure up ideas for more likely scenarios and end up not writing because of it.

Today as I was browsing, I found a website with some good yet awkward-to-write-about ideas. There is a suggestion for this month that suggests: "imagine you have been awarded the 'Golden Pen Prize' and write your acceptance speech".

Boring as that may sound, I enjoyed this idea because I've always found acceptance speeches to be so completely ridiculous. There was much potential to be had in this exercise, yet after an hour of pondering the only thing that I could picture in my mind was being handed this award, looking at the crowd awkwardly and saying, "so...this must mean that none of you have actually read anything I've written".

I should probably be a little more confident in myself in these imaginary award-winning situations. I looked pretty good in that suit, at least.

Social Site Stalking

I've realized recently that I am slightly addicted to social networking sites and there's an unfortunately vast number of them that I log in to anytime I'm on a computer. It's not that I use them for anything especially beneficial; I pretty much leave a silly comment or two for a friend and then I'm done. Though I find getting a message on them is ALMOST as sexy as getting an email. Almost.

There's usually a night every month that I find myself drawn to go profile hopping between friends and loves, lost friends and lost loves. These latter two I find to be - by far - the most interesting.

I'm not normally one to thrust my hand on the stove because I was told it was hot and I want to prove I can do it anyway (some friends may disagree), but it seems things that burn even hotter and leave marks that never quite heal I don't mind pressing my flesh to repeatedly. And so I often find myself drawn to live an extinct relationship vicariously though other people by their interactions with those who were once part of my life. I've tried to control the urge since it makes me feel a little devious, though I suppose if they weren't meant for public consumption they wouldn't be there. Or at least they'd be locked down.

It's a bad habit but, unlike my other such habits, I'm not all that eager to correct this one. Sure, it's a habit that can be painful; these are people I miss after all. But a bit of heartache is worth the price to see that they are happy.

Manly Moments

I know the few of you reading this have heard some of my many, many (many) tales about some of the embarrassing moments I've experienced in my life. If you know any of them, then you likely know about the girly scream that I unleashed the time I thought I was about to get hit head-on by a diesel on the freeway when I was, in reality, safely parked at a truck stop and the diesel has just parked right in front of me. Had I not been wildly trying to turn the (locked) steering wheel, I'd probably have erratically waved my hands in the air in terror. This is an important reflex to note.

I was at Climb Nashville with a friend recently attempting one of the walls that has given me trouble the last few times I've gone. It was my current goal to try and conquer; my Everest, and all that. I 'd made it to the same place that has always caused me to fail. It's an odd position where the only good foot grip for someone my height is right next to an area where the rock juts out several feet and when I go to stand straight up to reach the handhold I need, my leg is blocked by the lip of the rocks.

I'd been stuck on that spot for several minutes and any one familiar with climbing knows how rapidly your energy can drain when you have to stop on a place that doesn't have anywhere you can support yourself with your legs and by pressing your body to the wall. I was feeling weary. Nearing defeat, I released the rock and allowed my arms dangle, letting the blood flow to my stiff fingers. I was hoping to make one final, mad dash to the top.

The ropes they have are double-looped on the supports at the top so that the person belaying only has to support half of the weight that they would otherwise. This is usually a great thing however this can also cause the ropes to get slight hitches in them. I never really thought about this.
It's about this time, suspended 30 ft off the ground, my feet pressing against the wall so that my back was nearly horizontal with the ground far below, that one of these hitches decide to free itself. And I began to fall. I say "began" but what I really need is word that means both "began" and "finished" because the fall was so short and such a small distance that it was nearly over by the time it began. However, my brain didn't figure this out and all it knew was, "oh crap, I'm falling" and it proceeded to start reminding me of the highlights of my life. During the time it took me to start and stop my fall, my mind really only had a chance to get to "oh c..." but I guess it had stopped working properly at this point, deciding it wasn't going to accept any more input from the world, and completely disregarded this fact.

My brain may have been moving in slow motion but apparently my latent ninja reflexes decided to reveal themselves and managed to move my arms faster than the time my fall took, because by the time I had stopped, they were up near my face - spread wide and waving rapidly - and my mouth was agape preparing what I can only imagine was a sad, piercing womany scream that was working its way up from the depths of my throat. Thankfully that did not happen, my brain finally starting back up, but the danger was there.
Let's forget the fact that I was about to yell in a very non-manly way and instead look at the fact that I thought I was about to fall to my doom and instead of reaching for the wall, no matter how vain an effort it may have been, I instead INSTINCTIVELY reacted by waving my hands around frantically. Go, go survival instincts. If I'm ever in a nuclear fallout scenario, I'm screwed.

Oh, and also be sure to imagine how that would have looked to the people in the audience. I'm a single fellow and there's lots of potentially interesting people there to meet. But had they seen me - a tall guy, clinging to the wall with grim determination as I willed myself to victory - "plummet" a mere half a foot, while frantically flailing limbs and screaming in high-pitched terror...well, let's just say I wouldn't expect any dinner invitations to be forthcoming.

On a similar note, I went back today with the same friend as before and told him this story. He'd not recalled the incident and with his good memory I figure maybe it wasn't as obvious as it felt. But he found the whole situation funny, so he thought it'd be hilarious to drop me while I hanging from a rope again (this time taking photos) to see if he could replicate the reaction and maybe have me complete the yell. It wasn't the highest of the walls by any stretch but the fall wouldn't have been pleasant.
I thankfully disappointed him but I must have still made some sort of surprised gesture, sound or expression if his laughter was any guide. He couldn't have timed it better though. I'd been trying to get a shot of straight down the wall (to give a little perspective on how it looks from up top) with my terrible camera phone.

That was proving harder than I anticipated, my arms tired and shaky as they were. I got one shot off while suspended and RIGHT as I was about to take a second one, he dropped me and I snapped the photo as I fell. It's blurry and you can't tell at all what's going on, but I still found it entertaining.



So in case you're not familiar with it, that is what the moment right before death looks like. No soft white lights, just someone using too much motion blur on your life.