Music is my ( noun )
So I'm there. Charging around with a juggernaut brow; overdraft speeches and deadlines to make. Cramming commitments like cats in a sack; telephone burn and a purposeful gait, when out of a doorway the tentacles stretch of a song that I know and the world moves in slow-mo, straight to my head like the first cigarette of the day. And it's you, and it's May, and we're sleeping through the day; and I'm five years ago, and 3000 miles away.
-- Elbow, "The Bones of You"
A few weeks ago, my important work-related gadget new toy new iPhone arrived; this time I splurged and got the one with lots of space on it, because I wanted to have all of my music available to me at once rather than having to swap stuff from time to time. It seems like a minor thing, really -- I mean, how much music can you listen to at once, right?
It started a small mental revolution for me. I'm rediscovering my music collection, and it's invigorating to go back and find out which of your old favorites have aged well, and which haven't, and which songs can reach willowy arms into the recesses of my memory and trigger the images of life-moments. Some moments funny, some wistful, all piled up and compressed, like shale in my psyche.
The last ten years have moved really fast. And like Ferris Bueller said, "If you don't stop every once in a while and look around, you might miss it." And so, in no particular order, I present to you three memories, and the music that triggered them:
Memory One: "Mysterons", Portishead
I was in high school: I had a hand-me-down station wagon that I had 'enhanced' with some big speakers in the back. I mean BIG. I literally disconnected the built-in speakers in the tailgate, and ran wires to these big boxes that then rested in the trunk area, blasting tunes. If you wanted to have music on the go, just pop the hatch and pull the speakers out -- they could sit on top of the car, and you could bump your Tool or Public Enemy, or whatever -- and this track was one of my favorites. It's got a heavy trip-hop beat that drops back for Beth Gibbons' vocals, then bumps back. Addictive.
It's too bad I was too much of a nerd for people to recognize how awesome my crappy station wagon was.
Memory Two: "Wish", Nine Inch Nails
I had never heard industrial music before a friend gave me a copy of Broken to check out. The dark lyrics ("This is the first day of my last days / Built it up, now take it apart, climbed up real high now fall down real far / No need for me to stay, my last thing left, I just threw it away / Put my faith in god and my trust in you, now there's nothing more fucked-up I could do." and yes, I still had that memorized. ) appealed to my hormone-addled brain, giving me a rage to help fight the anxiety of being the youngest in my class and the smallest and the not-athletic-est and the transplant from some other town and also the weird interests, like reading books and shit.
Memory Three: Carmina Burana, Carl Orff
I had an ultra-conservative roommate one of my years in college. He was an excellent roommate, but our tastes, uh, differed, a bit.
One day I came home from class to what I thought was a quiet room. Roommate was at his computer ( aside: he also got me into Linux, which means he unwittingly became the person who most influenced my working life. Funny how that happens. ), typing away, and as I sat down on the couch the music crescendoed to a glorious choral-and-horn climax. I just sat and listened, entranced, then went over to read the CD jacket. Carmina Burana. The sacred and the profane: the wheel of fickle fortune; love, lust, gluttony, gambling. Something we could agree on, in other words.
I was instantly hooked, but I asked him whether the subject matter bothered him; clearly this was less than pure. And he responded that listening, enjoying the poetic expressions of people who discussed these topics was not the same as behaving this way. Learning from the experience of others is a good thing.
Ever since I have sought out music, both sacred and profane, classical or rap or jazz, that lets me experience the thoughts of others. The Red Hot Chili Peppers said it well: "My lily-white ass is tickled pink when I listen to the music that makes me think."
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So tell me: what songs do you remember? What did you learn from them?
This train is seriously messing with my …
This train is seriously messing with my Saturday doughnut run.
Posted via email from dwink
The Waspinator
“This is my can of Raid. There are many others like it, but this one is mine. My Raid is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my Raid is useless. Without my Raid, I am useless. I must fire my Raid true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy, who is trying to sting me. I must shoot him before he stings me. I will. Before God I swear this creed: my Raid and myself are defenders of my house, we are the masters of our enemy, we are the saviors of my backyard. So be it, until there is no enemy, but peace. Amen.”
It dragged on, this war, skirmish upon skirmish — first near the rose garden, then by the grill. Then in the grill, those yellow pointy bastards, and then, after a grand tactical effort flushing the legs of the grill with water and watching them float down the water trail to their waspy doom, there was peace. Blissful peace. There was grilling, and sprinkler-splashing, and hope restored.
Until we saw another camp crop up: under the kids' water table. We flipped it over, scorching the territory with the blistering sun, and we settled into an uneasy watch. Our top spy ( the neighbor kid who mows our lawn ) came through with decisive intel:
“The Bird Feeder is awash with enemy spies.”
This was it! I grabbed Bertha, my can of Raid, carefully polished the nozzle; got her ready for the showdown to come. I waited, drenched in sweat, for twilight to arrive.
The sun below the horizon, I crept, finger fighting twitches on Bertha’s trigger. One. Easy. Step. At. A. Time.
Until i felt something brush my shoulder! I dove behind the swingset, taking cover as I wondered if this was a suicide mission, and my life was about to end in a swirl of bug-eyes and stingers.
But it was just a breeze.
I finally made it to the birdfeeder. There was a full base hidden under the green and blue plastic! This must be the secret headquarters of the Wasp Nation! Without thinking I unloaded Bertha full-spray, an animal roar escaping my lips as the paper soaked up the Raid and began to drip, wasp after wasp dropping, writhing to stillness.
In what seemed like slow motion, I released Bertha’s trigger, turned, and trudged back to the house. Mission Accomplished.
Your move, motherfuckers.
What seems out of place here? Hmmmmm? I blame YOU, @mommywantsvodka
What seems out of place here? Hmmmmm? I blame YOU, @mommywantsvodka
Posted via email from dwink
The Daver In Real Life
In a week and a half, I get the distinct pleasure of meeting a number of Interwebz acquaintances in real life, and while I know everyone's sick of hearing about The Convention Who Shall Not Be Named, I also know that I have been pretty reticent on this here blog of late (hey, I never claimed to be a REAL blogger). So while a number of you may have goofed with me on Twitter, you might not know much about me other than that my wife is winning at LIFE.
Therefore, and with great trepidation, I present to you the stuff you should probably know about me:
- I usually play the straight man. If I don't laugh out loud at something, it's not because I don't find it funny.
- As a corollary, I don't necessarily stick to the facts, and I might take the opposing side of something just to enjoy the banter. Don't take it personally: if I'm bantering with you it means I like ya.
- I'm not really a blogger. My wife is, and she has a dedication to writing that I just...don't. I'm content to be on the fringes, where I can still meet some great people and laugh and share our lives.
- I've been known to randomly announce song lyrics I think of or am listening to. Like now: "Mmm, skyscraper. I love you." Bonus points if you can tell me where it's from.
- I free-associate a bit too much and I might forget to tell you. So you might talk about your pet rabbit, and I might ask about a cross grow-light, because rabbit -> Donnie Darko -> stuff crashing into houses -> ep. of Weeds where coke bottles crash into the Hodes' bedroom -> ep. with cross grow-light. Just go with it.
- Both of my parents were teachers; I will instinctively teach you anything I know. Feel free to tell me if you don't really want to know, and I'll shut up.
- Topics I can almost always talk about: Programming, technology, How The Internet Works, finance (esp. finance technology), Chicago, kids, guitar, soccer, beer.
- Topics I can usually talk about: Music, select TV series, movies, the game of Go, the Japanese language, Theater (esp. theater lighting & sound, and a little about directing ), graphic design, video games.
- Topics I can almost never talk about: fashion, celebrities, pop stars, politics, trends, reality TV.
So there you have it. Some stuff that you can use to talk to me (if you want to)! If you are going to be in the NYC area during conference time, and you want to meet me, feel free to email me (dave at dwink dot net ) or @ me (The_Daver) on Twitter, and we can set something up. Unless you're a rabbit with big sharp pointy teeth.
