when I get to troubles with language...

I like things that make me feel different when they're done with me.

Sometimes, it is really difficult to figure out where events of my life end and their soundtracks begin. This seems like the most base of sentiments, rooted in the piles of mix tapes that made up my youth, and I have to confess that with each passing year I continue to assume that this allegiance will end. On occasion, I convince myself that it has.

[When asked what it is I need in a significant other, one of my best friends asserted that I was insane if I thought I could ever be with someone who's not passionate about music. "But that's not something I ever think about immediately when I meet someone," I protested.

"That's because you don't usually have to; everyone you know is really into music, so those are the only kinds of people you meet."

To my chagrin, I later tested this theory and realised he was right.]

I'm curled up in the guest bed at my parents' house somewhere in the suffocated Midwest, making a belated Christmas gift of a mix CD for Christiana. She recently confessed to not having much knowledge of Ted Leo's music, and as a longtime fan I jumped at the chance to compile a favorites collection. Now, I'm leafing through a set of songs I honestly haven't lent my ear to in years, and it's just about making my heart fall apart.

To the best of my recollection, I first saw Ted Leo opening for someone (the Dismemberment Plan?) at the Bowery Ballroom in 2000 (or 2001?) My memory as measured by time is obviously hazy, but my memory of the moment itself is rock solid. Songs, it seems, are what keep me rooted in any kind of personal timeline at all.

The song that stuck with me that night was my first - and still - favorite, "Under the Hedge." The feeling that a song is changing your life as you're hearing it for the first time never seems to stop happening, even as age indicates that newness should no longer be possible. That night, age was barely comprehensible and "Under the Hedge" hit me with all the subtlety of a 10-ton brick:

"Oh I've been sometimes under your wall.
Keeping it out where I'm not welcome.
I've seen you one time stumble and fall
but I still love you, you see?
I've been five times back to the well
seeking to turn myself in something.
But you can't teach what you can't sell
and I'm not the only one it seems.

And then he continues on with "I still would say if you asked, it's building on bonding," and basically it would be all over from there even if the whole thing wasn't wrapped up in one of the most interesting hooks I'd ever heard. That night, I forgot about the band I was there to see and walked away with an indelible image of a scrappy looking dude and his band of merry men, and that song stuck in my head.

It continued from there - when The Tyranny of Distance came out, I formed new alliances with "Biomusicology" and "Stove By a Whale." Over the course of the next three or four years, I saw Ted Leo and the Pharmicists well over 30 times. "Where Have All the Rude Boys Gone?" and "The Ballad of the Sin Eater" became my kind of weird dance anthems, and I aligned his music with my favorite summers (4th of July barbeques at Brownies!) and my worst and sappiest moments (("None) on repeat, for no good reason.)

And then came 2005.

This whole story starts with a song and unfolds from there, and of course it's a Ted Leo song. "Me and Mia" starts out with a pre-chorus of affirmation: “Do you believe in something beautiful? Then get up and be it!” From there, the turn in narrative gets dark, fast: “Fighting for the smallest goal - to get a little self-control. I know how hard you try, I see it in your eyes.”

I listened to this song for the first time in bed at the physical rehabilitation arm of Beth Israel hospital, and more than any other thing, it speaks volumes to an experience I've waited five years to have the words for and still fail at.

At this point, then, it's been at least nine years since the first of these songs made it to my ears, and I expect all the sparkle to be gone. But with each track, I'm transported: "Under the Hedge", I'm front row at the Bowery, waiting for the band to go on; "Me & Mia", in a weird haunted hospital room on 1st avenue; "Your Star Is Killing Me", in a car with the windows down driving through southern California; "Come, Baby Come," dancing through the streets of New York on any given bad day.

If there's a sole artist that soundtracks the last ten years of my life, it's Ted Leo. It takes a land hundreds and hundreds of miles from home for me to remember this, and as nine years rolls into ten, I'm wildly curious about what happens in the next decade. Where the words to explain it all went, I'm not sure, but I'm glad to have a soundtrack that does it for me:

"It's the sonics, not the phonics, and it's all in the delivery."

patience & cookies

I was never so relieved to be back on a subway car as I was yesterday. Perhaps traveling back to NYC the day before New Years Eve wasn't the smartest idea ever, but a week in the suburbs proved itself a few days too long. I was anxious to get back to Brooklyn, despite new years eve invitations in Philadelphia. My father graciously drove me to the Trenton train station, where the ticket lines were long, and inexperienced travelers stood stupified at the vending machines. The ride was unbelievable crowded, and a loud family with obnoxious children stood next to me, constantly elbowing me and offering no apologies. They decided to loudly patronize and take malicious pictures of a passenger at the other end of the train. The father only laughed. I contained my disgust and tried my best to ignore them. After getting in to Penn Station, I ended up behind a French couple in line at the MetroCard machine. They stood there, with a long line behind them, looking over a subway map and not even touching the screen. I attempted to help (for purely selfish reasons, I'll admit), but language barriers left me completely frazzled and my impatience got the best of me. I suppose now they have a story about a real New Yorker confrontation to take home with them.

Upon entering a Brooklyn bound subway car my whole body relaxed. As I walked to street level, I sighed of relief; Being back in Greenpoint never felt so good.

My roommate is gone for the weekend, so I've been taking advantage of the empty apartment. The past two days have been filled with apartment scrubbing, errand running, and meal planning. Last night, after hitting up several grocery stories looking for ingredients for a vegetarian shepherds pie, and after not finding all of them in my neighborhood, I had to suck it up and head to the dreaded Union Square Whole Foods market.

For those who have not had the distinct pleasure of coming to this mega crowded mega market, let me indulge you in the hell that is the checkout line. There are 9 lines all together - four express, and five regular. Each line is represented by a different color, and when you have made your way up to the front of the line (I like to refer to this point as the "starting gate", as I feel like a race horse getting ready to gallop) there is a tv screen with colored rectangles corresponding with the color of your line. An automated voice calls the register number which you are to go to, and the number is displayed within the colored rectangles on the tv screen. When you see and hear a number in the color of your line, you check the sign below, telling you via arrows the location of the register you are to go to. There are 35 registers all together. Sound confusing? It is. I get high anxiety every time I step foot into that store. I try to avoid it at all costs.

After getting out of Whole Foods, I head down the street to the Trader Joe's Wine Store to pick up a cheap bottle of red to use in my recipe. As I walk towards the store, I stare dumbfounded at the fact that there was a line outside of the store just to get in. Thankfully the line moved quickly. It must be mentioned that the line at the Trader Joe's is just as bad as that of Whole Foods. It wraps around the entire store. It's advisable to go with another person; one person stands in line while the other person shops, and then you swap. It's absolutely ridiculous.

After my weary day yesterday, I decided today to make my favorite peanut butter cookies. Tomorrow perhaps I'll conquer the shepherd's pie. Tonight I will be bringing in the new year with a hot toddy, cookies, and a good book.

Not bad, not bad at all.





Listening to: The Static Age: Closing of the Year

change(s)

The past few days have found me holed away in my childhood bedroom with Louisa May Alcott's Little Women. This is a story I once thought I knew so well. Growing up I would constantly watch an animated VHS, a kind of Little Women introduction. It told the beginning of the story, introduced the main characters and gave one strong moral before ending. I couldn't stop watching it. At 11, the newest movie came out and I was mesmerized in so many ways. But, for some strange reason, although the actual book sat on my shelf from that time on, I never picked it up and read it.

When I came back to my parents house for holiday break last week, I decided it was time. I had waited long enough, hadn't I? Obviously I knew that the book would be different and hold many more details, but I am completely in awe about how much I've missed out on and how my opinions can be altered when presented with all the facts. The past few nights have been the kind where all I want to do is hide under my covers with my book and a flashlight, reading until my eyes can't stay open anymore. And that's exactly what I've been doing (well, minus the flashlight and my under-covers tent; such devices are for children, you see).

Last night I had a vivid dream that I never knew I needed. On display was a chapter of my life that had already ended, but was somehow trickling onto the fresh pages just now being written. I found myself in a confrontation that never had a chance to actually take place. Somehow, even after all this time, it gave me the closure I thought I had before, but didn't. Like the Little Women book vs. the movie, my dream vs. the memory brought forth all the details that are so easily overlooked or left out; ones that can be cut out to abbreviate the story, but that are essential to shedding the most light. And as I woke up, I felt the intense emotions and the racing of my pulse as if it had actually happened. And I sat up, and I smiled.

As Jo leaves her beloved home and Laurie for the big city, she places hard decisions in her wake and ventures out into the unknown, yearning to see what lay beyond. Her choice is controversial, but in the end it is exactly what she needed. Unlike Jo, I remain in the same city. But the thirst for change is there. Perhaps this is merely a temporary stop in my journey, but I shouldn't be so quick to overlook the details, as this stop is sure to prove itself important.

what makes us great

"So here's what Coach Vigil was trying to figure out: was Zatopek a great man who happened to run, or a great man because he ran? Vigil couldn't quite put his finger on it, but his gut kept telling him that there was some kind of connection between the capacity to love and the capacity to love running. The engineering was certainly the same: both depended on loosening your grip on your own desires, putting aside what you wanted and appreciating what you got, being patient and forgiving and undemanding. Sex and speed - haven't they been symbiotic for most of our existence, as intertwined as the strands of our DNA? We wouldn't be alive without love; we wouldn't have survived without running; maybe we shouldn't be surprised that getting better at one could make you better at the other." - Christopher McDougall, Born To Run

I can't think of anything I could say that would sum up how I feel about the world right now any better than the above paragraph.

christmastime

When I was a child I would spend Christmas' in the south at my grandparents. My parents rarely decorated our home or had a Christmas tree since we wouldn't be around. It was never Christmas for me until we pulled in to their driveway after 10 hours of being cooped up in the car. I have fond memories of rich decorations and gigantic Christmas trees in my grandparents beautiful Victorian house. There was always a large family gathering with lots to say and do and sensory overloads from the meticulously placed poinsettias, the noises of the people, and the smells of the kitchen.

When my grandparents passed away, any holiday sense of tradition I may have had left with them. Since then, I have never really fallen into any set Christmas ways. The only thing I have retained is my attendance at Midnight Mass. Over the past several years, I've taken to going solo on this spiritual obligation. Sometimes I wish that I could get caught up in the spirit of the season - and time may see my view altered - but for now, my quiet reflections are more fulfilling than any big Christmas "to-do" could ever hope to be.

this is the new year

I'm not exactly sure who this fellow is, but Flynn brought this to my attention via twitter, and it made my smile. So thus, I post.



Sure, it's completely nerdy. But this song gives me hope. How can I not love it?!

abstractions

Listening to: Italian Japanese