SOOF-yawn

So, as I mentioned earlier, Sara and I went to a show at the 40-Watt in Athens last weekend. Half-Handed Cloud was the opening band/guy. I commented to Sara, who openly disliked him, that I think the guy is more of a poet than a musician. His lyrics were interesting, but his voice was really high-pitched. I could never be a real music reviewer. I just figured this out. I cannot, for the life of me, say that this guy sucked. But I wouldn't go out and buy his record. Although, I'm sure he's a really nice guy...

And then, after what seemed like FOR-EV-ER, ol' Sufjan came out in his little patriotic jumpsuit made out of that papery material that windbreaker jackets used to be made of. (Pictures courtesy of Sara Snow who also covered the event on her blog.)



Let me preface this by explaining that Sufjan has made a goal to make an album about every state. He's already released his Michigan album, titled "Greetings from Michigan" and, most recently, Illinois (titled "Come on feel the ILLINOISE!"). He and his band, "The Illinoisemakers," played an awesome show. I say "awesome" because I am comparing it to the one in New York that I saw (at the Bowery Ballroom). This show was so much better. Here are the reasons:

a.) the 40-Watt in Athens is a much smaller venue than the Bowery,

b.) they played more songs off his other albums instead of solely from his newest albums, including more songs from "Seven Swans" which is my favorite album of his,

c.) I've bought another one of his albums since the last show so I knew a larger percentage of the songs he played,

d.) there was no mean girl beside us during the opening act that yelled at us for talking during the set like there was at the Bowery,

e.) I didn't just find out that day that I couldn't get in-state tuition like I did at the Bowery show, and

f.) a Southern crowd is much more enthusiastic and accommodating.

(I'd like to know, from a musician, or I guess any performer, that's been onstage with lights in their face, if they think it's possible to see one face in the crowd. Do you kind of seek out any pair of eyes and just hold the stare because you're not thinking about who you're looking at? Or because you're concentrating? I'm not asking for any reason, in particular. I just have a theory... I'm seriously curious.)

Sufjan in his cheerleading get-up. Notice the Superman doll. They have a song about Metropolis which, apparently, is in Illinois. (It's really more fun than cheesy. Really.)



They played about an hour and a half. I think. Don't even ask for a set list. I'm not one of those concertgoers that can ever remember set lists even if I make a mental note to remember all of the songs. And even if I know every song that they play. But I do know that he played a couple of songs off of Seven Swans as the encores.

Here's a picture during the encore:




If you haven't noticed, I have a little crush.


On a different note, I have AOL Instant Messager now. My AIM username is lookoutlad (who knew, right?). It's free, so download it.

I'm thankful for: a room that's getting cleaner and more organized everyday.

Goodnight.

I know. I know. It's time for an update. It's been a pretty crazy week.

I moved back to Carrollton on Monday, as most of you know. On Tuesday and Wednesday I tried to unpack everything, but I realized that it took me awhile to pack everything, so it'll probably take me awhile to unpack it, right? So my room's pretty, umm, disheveled. But it's getting there.

I started working with my dad at his computer store in Newnan (which is about 30 minutes from our house -- yep, I'm livin' with the folks). I had to get up at 6:15 this morning. Yeah, that's monumental -- it has been years since I got up that early, unless you count staying up until 6:15 in the morning. So my late afternoons/early evenings have consisted of 2 or 3 hour naps.

I realize that all of this information is awe-inspiring and amazing. But so is life in Carrollton. (Notice that I'm writing this at 11:30 PM on a Friday.)

But tomorrow night, Sara and I are driving to Athens to go to a Sufjan Stevens show (yeah, this is my second in about a month). So maybe I'll take pictures and give a review.

In anticipation of seeing "Just Like Heaven" tomorrow, Sara and I just rented "13 Going on 30." And "Can't Hardly Wait." We decided to "dumb it down" tonight. But Ethan Embry? And Mark Ruffalo? Nice. I think I'll fast-forward to the parts with them in it.

Monday morning a group of us went out to breakfast at Veselka. Here are Genevieve's thoughts and pictures. (Can you tell I had just woke up?)

More after my eventful day tomorrow...

I'm thankful for: A place to come home to

My latest celebrity sighting

I forgot to mention on my last post that I saw Molly Ringwald on Thursday. I was walking out of the UPS store as she was walking in. I must have had a look on my face that screamed, "I know you." Because she definitely had a scared animal look on her face. Deer in headlights. She looked the same but more like a mom.

My 50th Post

Yep, this is my 50th post to this site. Exciting, huh?

There's not that much to write about except the fact that I'm moving on Monday. I feel really weird. I'm in a daze -- this funk where I stare at the wall and don't blink for hours. I'm not sad. I'm not happy.

I've shipped off all of my stuff. I'm even sleeping on one of Lexia's pillows and with one of her blankets. It feels like I'm on a really anti-climactic vacation. I'm living out of a suitcase. The apartment doesn't feel like my apartment anymore. I feel like a visitor, but not even the kind of visitor that people are excited to see after a long absence because I've been here all along.

Tonight I'm having dinner with the two families that I've babysat for for almost two years. It's going to be tough... Then I'm having a party on a friend's roof after that to tell everybody 'bye.

I don't know if it's because I just got a new Kashmir CD (okay, I got two, but the other one is awful. Terrible, I tell you. Suffice it to say, there's white boy rap involved, of the Faith No More variety.) and I've been listening to it non-stop, but I feel like a Kashmir song sounds. Not one in particular, just as a whole. I guess that means nothing to you if you haven't heard this album. Here's a link. It has all of the songs from The Good Life (coincidentally, a pretty dark record). Be sure to listen to "Lampshade" and "Gorgeous." The album's not as good as Zitilights, but it's still pretty good. Maybe I just feel a sense of loyalty because I met them.

Anyway, I've rattled on long enough about nothing. Later.

I'm thankful for: Reghan's box set of Felicity episodes, Season 4.

Be Mindful, Even When the Mind is Full

I'm on the bus back to New York from Boston right now (or I was as I was writing this). I was staring out the window, but now I have the overhead light on so all that I can see when I try to look out of the window is my own reflection. Not a welcome sight after a long day and three and a half hours on a bus. And since the light is above my head, my features are shadowed and my face looks skeletal. Reminds me of the vanitas paintings I've studied in Art History -- a genre that forces a reminder of man's mortality.

I'm leaving New York in one week (plus a few hours). I am fully aware of the gravity of this transition but, right now, I lack any emotion about the move. Except for relief. How long can a fish survive out of water really?

This whole transition is making me painfully aware of my lack of resolution and direction for my future. It's making me painfully aware of a deficiency in my self-knowledge. It's making me painfully aware of my shifting dreams, of the realization that I wanted to be a photographer for all of the wrong reasons. To explain, I wanted to do either a.) travel photography so that I could travel, or b.) band photography so that I could be involved in the music industry. I've realized that I genuinely do enjoy photography and the stark potential it has to make a blind person see, but I admire it in the work of others. I've learned in the past few weeks that the likelihood that I will ever be completely satisfied with the quality of my photography is not as probable as it is with my writing.

I now understand that I have never committed to an English degree or a career in that area because the potential for failure in something that I love would hurt much more than failure in something that I kind of like and that I didn't believe I could do anyway. (I realize the error in thinking this way. If I loved someone [a guy] as much as I love writing, I'd like to think I'd give everything I had to make a relationship with that person work.)

I recently read a friend's thoughts on the "sell-out artists" -- the naturally creative people that feel they have to commercialize their ideas in order to stay afloat. I realize that that is what I have become. The logical person may think, "Yeah. That makes sense. Sometimes you have to compromise in order to survive." But the creative person wants to believe -- has hope -- that if they maintain their artistic identity, they will be rewarded. I'd like to think that I'm enough of an idealist to believe in myself that much, but history seems to state otherwise. I want to be a creative writer. That's what I really want in my life. The only thing that rivals this desire is the desire to be a good mother and wife. But I'm afraid of failure. To the point that I've evaded the obvious and changed my "dreams" repeatedly. I may get trampled by the world if I make the decision to be a creative writer, but I much prefer that than the slow annihalation of self that the last five years have been leading to. [Addendum: After a long discussion with Sara and Lexia, I realize that the term "sell-out" may not be the exact term that I wanted to use. I just was trying to convey the thought that I feel I have compromised my dreams because I didn't know if I could make a living at it.]

I know this all sounds kind of dramatic and emotional, but that's what happens when you contemplate your future at night on a bus while staring out of the window. And I've written all of this with the knowledge that only people that I care about and that care about me read my blog. And this is nothing that I wouldn't rattle on to you in person.

I'm thankful for: situations that are catalysts for change and progress. And this dude named De La Vega that writes in chalk on the sidewalks and says really positive things like, " Become your dream," and "Be mindful even when the mind is full." I like you De La Vega. I like you a lot.

What a weekend!

"Just stay in the middle lane."
"I can't get over!"
"Well, this lane turns into an exit lane, so you don't want to take it."
"I do want to take it?!?!?"
"No. Don't take it."
"Do?!?"
"No -- don't!"
"AHH!"
"And you took it."


Let me just say, the Snow family is nuts (nong-u-tong-song). I feel okay about saying this on the world wide web, because they know they're nuts. And, I think, in fact, take pride in it.

I went on, what started as, a little road trip to Upstate New York with Sara, Lexia, and their mom, Cathy. At one point, we were in the Catskill Mountains (Cat-skills? Cats-kill? I'll leave it to Sara to explain the significance of the name...), which we, originally, had no intention of seeing, as we were supposed to be heading far west of the Catskills. It's a beautiful area that reminds me of the Smokey Mountains in Tennessee. "This area reminds me of (name another spot in America)" became a recurring theme of the trip. The rural parts of Central New York look like Pennsylvania (understandably). And parts of the Midwest. Anyway, we came to the conclusion that everywhere in America, invariably, looks like another place in America.

We went all the way to Niagara Falls on the western New York/Canada border. It was good to see it, if for no other reason than to be able to say I've been there. But I have to say, I much prefer Snoqualmie Falls' (in Washington State) lack of tourism and its natural beauty to the pomp that is Niagara Falls. I'll post pictures later. (My scanner's on its way to Georgia.)

We got back to our apartment at 2:30 this morning. It was quite the ride. I really enjoyed the trip itself, but the banter of the Snows added life to the pastoral landscape. Nuts, I tell you.

I'm thankful for: Side-splitting, ab-hurting laughter.

It's a Wonderful Life

Sara, conscientious author of "Busy Nothings," has this habit of saying something she's thankful for every time she writes a new post. I think I'm going to try to adopt this habit myself. 'Cause it is a wonderful life. We just have to recognize it.

So here's my first one.

*The cool breeze that signifies that Fall is on its way.*

Seriously. Not to try to get all poetic and deep. I just really like a nice breeze in late summer.