A Trip

Vermont looked beautiful as we pulled away from the Connecticut river. Sunlight glanced off the shallows headed for the comforting shade of the pine tree steeped banks. I felt strangely self aware. I considered, "I have to drive 4,000 miles." And I thought, "This means nothing to me, but it will." I was right, but as the trip progressed, I lost the self reflective streak. Moments themselves seemed more important than what would, or wouldn't, or had already. Succumbing to a traveling trance was easy, delightful, and as I embraced it, I felt closer to the country, the road, and myself.

Educational Failures?

America is not exactly on the up and up in the science/math department. From what I hear (I'm too lazy to look up statistics) it's quite a bleak scenario. We, the among the wealthiest of the wealthy nations, cannot compete on an international level in quantitative fields. Why? Who do we blame?

Appreciating Spectra In Life

Almost two years ago now, I had a particularly rough loss in my family. I was blown away by the suddenness and the gravity of the situation. I can easily recreate the phone call with my mom and the subsequent talks with my brother and dad. I remember going back to my house and writing down everything I could remember about her. I wrote the good and the bad, and didn't try or want to sugar coat the situation. I played "The Night They Drove Dixie Down" on guitar, and felt surreal and disconsolate.

Months later I was able to listen to Levon sing that song again without holding back tears. But I had learned a incredible lesson. I also was overwhelmed by the positive response throughout our family and the kindness of friends.

Occupy.

Last Sunday afternoon L. Turino, NVN, and I were sitting at a raised table at a Boylston St. bar eating buffalo sliders, waffle fries, and cheese pizza, and discussing the Occupy movement. We tried for quite a bit to distill what was really going on down into a few points. At the risk of lumping them in with my ideas unfairly, you should ask them personally their uptake from the conversation. Here’s mine though. Attached with each is a poster I believe sums up the point I’m making. All the posters are distributed freely from “occupy together” the website.

Jams

I’ll start off with a good quote:

"Archaelogy is a thing of the past." – P. Johnson circa last night in reference to the age of data and literacy potentially eliminating the need for future archaelogists.

You know what else is a thing of the past? Me blogging. Maybe it’s because I’ve been busy, but mostly I think it’s because I’ve been using all my creative brain time on other things. For some reason today I felt inspired to play a bunch of guitar and now write about music.

Nina

Every once in a while you read a quote from a famous musician that isn’t garbage drug speak. I like these moments and I like feeling the people who I follow sometimes obsessively actually are articulate and meaningful. While Phish is obviously known for their stupid lyrics (except for backwards down the number line) Trey did say something in an interview with Guitarworld (yea I know…) that I will never forget. He described driving a long distance and suddenly having a song come on which instantly awakens him to his surroundings, as if all of a sudden the clouds evaporate and more is observed while still concentrating on another thought entirely. This is a strange neurological phenomenon not worth understanding, but I have felt my brain, when stimulated by one thing, seems to brighten/enhance/focus perception in general. I listen to a ton of music when I drive, but I had never felt this feeling. Sure when I was sleepy and I put on Appetite for Destruction it woke me up but not in this elusive fasion Big Red was insinuating.

Why Mark Twain Is The Man

I've been out of commission in the writing words game, solely subsisting on greek letters and special functions (here's a new friend). But I try to read a little whenever I can. I was scouring a Smithsonian for any semblance of enjoyable material when I stumbled upon an article about Samuel Johnson, an esteemed biographer of social commentator James Boswell. That seemed like so many literary levels removed from real life, until I found out that "Writing the Life of Samuel Johnson", a chronology of said biographer, had taken it a step further, yet still won very prestigious critics awards. Who reads this stuff anyway? This is two hops and a skip away from a rumor mill, except that I guess it's fastidiously researched to the point of obsession. I want to get back to the roots of American Literature and celebrate a man who wouldn't dare get caught on a hype track for some other writer essaying on the story of another writers writing. I just realized I'm writing about this.

Here's a few reasons why Mark Twain is the MAN, some are outright lies. He:

Invented the huckleberry.

Inspired the song Cripple Creek Ferry. Neil Young is his grandson.

Vilified and mocked the British and their snooty accents. Still got a degree from Oxford.

Bathed in rivers. Made money.

Had a real name, but didn't use it.

Spoke out against slavery, imperialism, and civil injustices around the world. Also, was born with fluffy moustaches.

Is the reason we know the period of Halley's comet.

Fell in love with a picture. Then married the woman in it. Talk about self aware.

Chilled with Nik Tesla, physics badboy and understood wizard.

Became depressed when his daughter died -- a proper and forthright reaction.

Wrote books that are still banned for being naughty. TEE HEE

Screen The Modern Family

Surfing the internet is good for so many things, and worse for so many others that I can't even begin to start rationalizing my own addicted behavior, or judging others for their ipadding or conversely their holier than thou alternative choices like running or reading or Rastafarianism. I read an article in the times not too long ago about the modern family and its development(?) under the influence of technology. As I did, I felt weird inside.

I grew up in a house where watching television was demarcated as a waste of time. It was stupid and poisonous, and even though I found ways to watch some of the drivel around, and certainly spent my fair share of Saturday mornings doing a weird vaudeville version of karate in tandem with the power rangers, I was always aware that this was merely permitted as a direct consequence of “picking your battles”, not condoned. TV on weekdays was as forbidden as soda, except for the half hour of Wishbone which went down like warm raspberry seltzer – picture my face.

Live Love

Most of you know that I have a special place in my heart for the city of brotherly love. The reasons are many: It was a short cruise down there on 95 in highschool, and we knew kids at Drexel. It was a real city with lots of life and history, but didn't feel intimidating, or expensive like New York. It was scary and exciting too, but not altogether that dangerous. Most importantly though, it was a place to see live music and had a great community of smaller to medium sized venues capable of housing known, but still undergroundy bands - and of course the Tweeter center was right across the river in Camden for the bigger shows like DMB, Allman Brothers, Phish, etc. I have no memory of feeling safe there though. Philly also had a large live electronic community, and I'm not sure how or when this started, but bands like the New Deal, Particle, Lotus, EOTO, Eliot Lipp and Sound Tribe always made stops at places like the Tower theater, the Trocadero, the Keswick, the Theater of Living Arts and of course the Electric Factory.

It might have been 3 years ago now the last time I saw Lotus at the TLA, but things were still the same. It was their "christmas party" and the crowd was filled with people I was "sure" I had seen before, and apparently all the families and friends of the band were in attendance. They played an amazing show of classic songs also tossing in some really silly/crazy covers including a tease of Killing in the Name, and a jammed out version of Hyrule Castle. I got thrown out for underage double fisting, but walked back in the front door with no problem. Nice. When we left we were greeted with the loving hiss of the mafia, just like old times.

It seems like these days I hardly have time to see live music. I could have seen a master class on monday night from the guitarist and drummer from Wilco, but I even missed that. As a result I have more and more drifted into listening to albums, and falling for the blogosphere. But, one thing I always like is to listen to live music anyway. I love listening to artists reinterpreting their own music live, and the energy that comes from a crowd/musician interaction. Truly the most magical recordings I have in my library are often improvisations, and will never happen again. I give you a playlist of 10 incredible live versions of songs you may or may not have heard.

In Defense Of A Great Band

I know this might bother a few of my coauthors, but for all their commercial success, the Red Hot Chili Peppers are a great band. They have certainly had their set-backs, mostly centered around their longtime compatriot, the horse. Nevertheless they’re likeable, strange, funky, emotional, psychedelic, talented and have been enjoyably morphing and transcending popular styles through their almost 30 year career. It has made them in my opinion the best band of our generation (save for maybe Radiohead if hearing someone whine makes you feel better about your own depression).

Ode On A Spanish Onion

It is a late and closeted hour in Hanover. The once verdigris sky has contracted into a nebulous hole of steamy depth. I come home desultory and slavering. My key clicks and I wander into my kitchen, craving a disparate flavor. Dear God. Give me something new. I need novelty. I need something more than the pomegranates of the malevolent earth. My mind is drenched in trivialities, my temples beating like a sodden shrew's boiling heart. Were it not for my cell phone ringing out in desperation, I would fall on the floor like a oven grate, burning and jangling and hissing its final miseries in a sweaty linoleum coffin. But here we have a surprise. Pete has been shopping and has called to inform me he will be home soon -- oh make it soon -- with the bounty of the co-op, pretentious and predictable ingredients from euphemistic and charming aisles, fresh and supple delectables to nourish and sustain my woefully empty soul.