Best thing since sliced bread.

• My new Kashmir album. It kind of has a grunge/1994 feel to it. And David Bowie sings on Track #3. (Click on the link to listen to the album.)
  
  

• And the website I bought it on (that ships to the US for free).
  
  

(Sorry, I know I've been on a Kashmir kick lately.)

Here's to Don Knotts and Darren McGavin.


And if anybody other than me is interested, here's a video of a Kashmir concert in Amsterdam. (Click on the link on the right. And I'd skip over the first song if I were you. It's my favorite song of theirs, but it was no good live.)

A plague o' both your parties!*

Stay with me. I have a point here.

I've been reading a lot of Renaissance literature lately. I really respect and envy the complexity of the language used then. The Renaissance author -- and person -- cleverly disguises his meaning with phrases that have multiple meanings and innuendoes.

There's a reason for this. The Renaissance period in England can be traced to roughly around the beginning of the 16th C.E. This was a little while after the War of the Roses and during the Tudor Dynasty. (Help me out if I'm wrong here, Genevieve.) The Tudor dynasty was characterized by vast executions, religious turmoil, and overall uneasiness in the political, social, and religious sectors of England. (All of these sectors were interrelated, so unrest in one sector led to unrest in EVERY sector.)

So people got really good at hiding their meanings. They camouflaged their speech so as not to be tagged as blasphemous or traitorous. But their peers were just as adept at deciphering the hidden meanings, so the point of the author was never lost. Several generations were brought up to understand this complexity of language, and the works of literature written in that era convey that intricacy.

In our day, in our country, we can say whatever we want. We have complete freedom of speech. (I'm sure people can argue that our freedom of speech has again become limited since September 11th. But there are no beheadings, being burned at the stake, or even arrests in our days simply for stating an opinion that is against government or church authority. And I'm sure that will be argued in the comments section.) Our speech has become plain. WYSIWYG, if you will. ("What you see is what you get.") There are political activists that blatantly criticize our president, government officials, and military officials. I'm not saying that's a bad thing. There are pros and cons to this freedom of speech. But our language is so simple and minimal now. There is no complexity of language because we can say whatever we want without severe repercussions.

When did this simple speech begin? When did we have to stop hiding our meanings behind allegories, allusions, metaphors? Was it the 60s? After McCartyism? Or do you think we still have a complexity of language? (It can be argued that slang is allegorical and a way for a younger generation to camouflage meaning from older generations.) What do you think?

*The title was the result of a joint brainstorm by Sara and me.

When I was little...

I used to think that the planes leaving tracks in the sky were all crashing. I didn't know about the curve of the Earth's atmosphere, and it looked like they were falling to the ground. I thought they were blowing up as they were falling and that's where the "smoke" was coming from. I think that probably stems from watching the Challenger explode as a child.

Why do they call it a CIVIL war?

Seems kind of oxymoronic.

What would YOU do?

Yes, I totally ripped that graphic off of MSN. And don't get any ideas. I am not, unfortunately, engaged. Though, you know, that'd be kind of nice.

Anyway, what I'm getting at with this post is this: Girls, would you ever propose to a guy? And by "propose" I mean, would you ever really ask the question, not just hint around at it until he takes the bait?

And guys, how would you feel if the girl pulled out a ring, got down on one knee and asked you to marry her?

I'm just curious. I don't think that the girl popping the question is as common and trendy as MSN's making it. What do you think?

Here are the links, in case any of you need pointers.

How to Propose to Her

How to Propose to Him (And by the way, I really like the guy's corduroy blazer in the photo.)

What's Bryant Gumbel saying today?

"So try not to laugh when someone says these are the world’s greatest athletes, despite a paucity of blacks that makes the Winter Games look like a GOP convention."

Who's fault is that, Bryant? I don't see you getting out there and skiing the downhill.

GOP Convention. Jerk.

Talk about racist. Jerk.

He doesn't warrant a photo. Jerk.

Two of my classes were cancelled yesterday.

Two of my professors have the flu. Bad for them, good for me. They were my two last classes of the day, so I left Atlanta at 2:45 instead of 6:45. I thoroughly enjoyed my afternoon.

And how come Bode Miller can't catch a break? Poor guy. I don't know that he was physically ready but, geez, I feel sorry for him. I don't really even like the guy.

I'm thankful for: Ice dancing being (almost?) over in the Olympics.

Well, look who it is.

I found some pictures from a guy in the Netherlands that saw Kashmir live. Here's one of Kasper Eistrup. (Mmm-hmm. Notice the Sonic Youth shirt. Niiice.)



Here's the guy's link.

And here's one from my buddy (and old neighbor) Keith from 2D. Shows the massive snow that New York got last week. It makes me jealous. Georgia just gets threats of snow and/or ice and sleet. It is so awesome in New York right when it snows. Before it gets black and slushy.



Here's his link.


I've been forgetting to say what I'm thankful for. So, I'm thankful for: Other people capturing their lives on film. I love to see other people/places/things through someone else's eyes.

Sterotypes

You know, I've been thinking today of specific instances where a stereotype of a certain kind of person has been proven completely correct.

I mean, cliches and stereotypes are there for a reason, right?

Here's my example: When my family was in Hawaii a few years ago, my dad and brothers took surfing lessons. They had to wear those ever-stylish water shoe things. At the end of the lesson the instructor, a 20-something guy from Seattle said, "If you could hand me your booties, dude, I'd be more than stoked." I laughed audibly. I mean, he was from Seattle.

I think, too, that sometimes people try to become that stereotype. Maybe it's to make them fit in more? I don't know. But can you think of any specific examples in your life where you have met a real, live stereotype? C'mon. You can think of at least one. And let's try to stay away from the whole "I met this Democrat/Republican one time that..." thing. :)

This is the only time you'll see a picture of Hillary on my blog.

So apparently Hillary is popular enough to have a wax figure of herself. (No, I won't make any "dummy" jokes. It's too easy.) But doesn't it look more like Jane Pauley? Or is it just me?

Are you kidding me?

This was the best selling Valentine's Day greeting card this year. On the inside it says, "Each time I see you, hold you, think of you, here's what I do... I fall deeply, madly, happily in love with you. Happy Valentine's Day."

Bleck. (How do you spell that?) And don't tell me that I just don't understand because I've never been deeply, madly, happily in love. C'mon, it's even badly written. It has a red rose on it. For pete's sake. Bleck.

Do the Arctic Monkeys warrant all the hype?

I think not.

a.) "Arctic Monkeys" is possibly one of the worst names for a band I have ever heard. No, it's THE worst.

b.) There are much better British bands out there right now. You want me to name a few? (Genevieve, help me out here.) The Futureheads, Kaiser Chiefs, Aqualung, Bloc Party, Faultline, or even The Libertines, for cryin' out loud. And while most of these bands are surrounded by just as much hype as the Arctic Monkeys (if not more), I feel that it is actually warranted.

c.) They're just bad. Too much distortion or something. Bass is too heavy. I don't know. I just don't like 'em, and I wonder how/why so many people do. What am I missing here?

I mean, today Chris Martin said, "Obviously, the Arctic Monkeys are the greatest band in the world." I disagree with you on a lot of things, Chris. And this is one of them.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Apparently, today is Valentine's Day. And here is a little compilation of diddies I like to call..."Tongue-Tied: The Anatomy of a Make-out Session II" (not to be confused with the first installment).

(I haven't worked on the order of these songs, so they're in no particular order right now.)

1. Louis Armstrong: A Kiss to Build a Dream On
2. Clem Snide: Close the Door
3. Ella Fitzgerald: Let's Do It (Let's Fall in Love)
4. Sufjan Stevens: Casimir Pulaski Day
5. Robert Stillman: Love Theme
6. *Aqualung: You Turn Me Around
7. Jeff Buckley: Hallelujah
8. *Jack Johnson: Banana Pancakes (or Better Together)
9. Sigur Ros: Glosoli
10. Bob Marley: Is this Love?
11. *Nick Drake: Pink Moon
12. Luke Temple: Get Deep, Get Close

* These artists also appear on the first edition, however the songs have been changed.

I'd be interested to hear if these songs actually work for anybody today.

I had a dream last night.

(This post is dedicated to Sara and Lexia. :) )

I had a dream last night that I was at some weird high school reunion but there were about three classes (1998, 1999, and 2000) that were, umm, reunioning. We were all in the football stadium, and I was by myself and didn't know where to sit. (And I looked good except that I was wearing this really conservative long skirt that made me look Amish.) I didn't see anybody I recognized but Sara. And when I waved to her, she turned away and walked to the place where all of the class of 1999 was sitting. Then I saw Sarah Shoemaker who told me she was married (because she is).

Flash forward and I'm watching speed skating. (I watched that last night before I went to bed.) You know the guys wear these unitard things with hoods? Well, in my dream I thought, "Hey, those guys are totally phallic symbols in my dream. Sara and Lexia are gonna love this." (Like it was a joke.)

Then I was on this Bachelor-like show, horseback riding on the beach. But I can't remember the guy. Then I woke up.

Well, no dreams last night either.

But I did wake up singing "Slim Shady." (I don't know.)

Jungian Psychology

Don't skip over this post just because the title might sound boring to you.

I bought this book last night that's an intro to Carl Jung's theories of psychoanalysis. I stayed up until about 2 A.M. reading it. I was hoping I would have a lot of weird dreams last night that I could analyze. I didn't. But I've been analyzing everything (even more than I usually do) using some of his theories. I mean, I just bought this new album of Robert Stillman's and it's completely instrumental. (Good stuff, by the way.) At point during listening to it, I literally thought, "Hmm, I hear a Shadow there. Interesting." (The Shadow is one of the recurring archetypes that Jung defined.)

I read about dream analysis, something I've always been really interested in, and one part really stuck out. I ALWAYS have dreams about rock stars. Eddie Vedder, Sufjan Stevens, you name it. It said that we make these people "gods". This totally fits, as I have dreamt about these "gods" at points in my life when I was really craving and seeking out a personal relationship with God (the Big One). At these times in my life, I was focusing a lot of my time and energy trying to cultivate an honest, compassionate relationship with God. And that is usually what I gained in my relationships with these rock stars in my dreams. See, interesting, right?

So to continue the theme here, do you guys have any one dream that really stands out to you? Or if not, you could just answer this: what celebrity do you want to dream about? :) Because that's always fun to think about, right?

I know the "Cabbage Patch" (C'mon, you know. The little dance where you move your arms in a circle in front of your chest?) met its demise yeeears ago but, dang, I felt like doing the Cabbage Patch when I walked out of the door of my Creative Writing class Monday. I know you guys probably get really tired of hearing about that, but it's a major source of anxiety for me. And this is a web log (a.k.a. journal), so this is where I vent about that class the most.

So my point is that my critique went well. Everybody but the girl "that likes a lot of, like, scattered discourse and stream-of-conciousness stuff" liked what I had written. And my professor says, "Evocative portrayal of age and the discarded which links so well to Edna. I want to know what's driving her to this."

Nice. Cabbage Patch it on home for me.

Lost World of New Species Found in Jungle

Okay, I'm not going to get into a habit of copying the latest news stories on my blog, but today is pretty news-worthy. This is really cool. Just when you think we've conquered everything and seen every inch of earth and space there is, explorers find a new jungle in Indonesia with new birds, frogs, butterflies, and plants.

Pretty cool, huh?

Oh, crap.

Iranian Officials Obstruct Nuke Inspectors
"We're not scared of anything."

For the story, go here.

Yeesh. Was anybody else REALLY disappointed in The Brothers Grimm? What a waste of my time. There's such potential for a good story there. And, c'mon, they got Matt Damon and Heath Ledger to do that movie? I'm pretty convinced that Mr. Ledger takes any part that's presented to him. Proof: The Order, Ned Kelly, and A Knight's Tale. But Mr. Damon?

I had to read 'Brokeback Mountain' for my creative writing class. And I wish I hadn't. Or if I had, I wish I had at least read it earlier in the day so that gay cowboy sex wouldn't be running through my head as I'm trying to get to sleep.

And, can I just say?, in the short story, the descriptions of these cowboys does not equal Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal.

Why, oh why, did I read that at 1AM?

[I want to add that if the story had been about a loving homosexual relationship, I would have had much less of a problem reading this. But it was all (graphic) sex. I don't even want to read about (graphic) heterosexual sex.]

And that's all I'll say about 'Brokeback Mountain.'

Here it is.

The assignment is to "furnish a place with a character". In other words, create a character through observation of the setting. Not so easy. Here's what I've got. (And, yes, I am writing this on Friday night at 11:30. If there are any comments about me being a loser that doesn't go out on Friday nights, you obviously have never been to Carrollton, Georgia.)


Barn’s about as busted up as I feel, Edna often reflected when she was in the cool lean-to. The electricity that had originally brightened the shed had long since shorted out. She figured a mouse had probably chewed through some wires, though she had never found an electrified mouse. Just live ones. After going through countless D batteries trying to light the shed with a huge Coleman flashlight, Edna had bought an oil lamp. She much preferred the flickering, warm light of the fire over the bluish halogen light of the flashlight anyway. She felt the shifting light of the flame inspired her in her craft. And the oil lasted much longer than the batteries had.

Sunlight stole through the cracks between the roughly hewn boards of the outside wall, giving a glimpse of the meandering flights of dust particles. The sunlight landed on the gleaming array of objects on the work table. Edna swore she could see molecules in this light, little halos suspended. Probably just dust on my corneas.

The packed dirt floor was covered with old straw and hay that had been flattened from years of being trodden. The sweet aroma of the hay still permeated the place, combining with the fragrance of mildew and musk. This perfume had long since replaced the stench of cows and other livestock in the barn.

Shelves lined the outside wall of the lean-to, reaching heights far above Edna’s head. Old glass Coca-Cola and Nehi Grape bottles filled every shelf, from top to bottom, from right to left. In these bottles were once-neglected plastic flowers, flowers that had blown into Edna’s garden from the graveyard across the road. These flowers had once represented poinsettias, irises, tulips. They had symbolized memories, love, respect. The sun had bleached the petals a dirty yellow color; the original color of the petals could only be guessed at by the shape of the flower and the plastic pistils and stamens. Rain-stained Styrofoam was still attached to many of the bunches of flowers, brown and harboring various forms of insects and fungi. Wires poked out of the green plastic stems, making handling the flowers hazardous and often painful. Like a real rose, Edna once thought.

The work table in the far left corner of the shed was constructed from several two-by-fours and plywood. It had long been a surface on which to gut fish or fix carburetors, but now the table held piles of sequins and beads, feathers and ribbons, hot glue guns and green florists’ tape. It held numerous cans of spray-paint – red and purple, green and neon pink. Edna knew that the neon pink paint was usually used for tagging gas lines or trees to be cut down, but she thought that it might add some energy to the flowers, some vitality.

Edna stepped onto the ladder and selected one of the bouquets from the top shelf. She placed it on the table and checked the glue gun to make sure it was hot. Ruth Walker. Born September 14, 1903. Died January 11, 1982, Edna thought as she reached for the purple ribbon.


Puh-leese give me some suggestions. Get lengthy with it. This is the one that's being critiqued in class on Monday.

Look what I did today.

My dad's developing some land on Lake Wedowee in Alabama, so my brother Parker and I have been working on the logo. He came up with the basic design. I ran it through Photoshop and Illustrator. What do you think?

Questions? Comments? Concerns?

(What do you think about the fonts/shadow behind words?)

Be prepared folks.

I have a piece that is DEFINITELY being critiqued on Monday by my Creative Writing class. (And the shocking thing is that I volunteered. But we all have to go at some point, so I thought I'd get it over with.) Yikes. I'm going to post it on here as soon as I finish it so I can get as much feedback as possible.

What's ol' Punxsutwaney Phil think today?

Six more weeks of winter.

Maybe I'll look for one of those fuzzy catepillars to prove him wrong.

If you do nothing else today,

you should read these two blogs.

I found Cassian's blog through Brigham's. Pret-ty good. I like it. Funny guy. I think he's probably a Sculpture major (or Fine Art?) at BYU. You should definitely read this post. Hilarious. (He's Sariah's brother, for those of you in NYC.)

And I found David's blog through Cassian's. About a year ago, I met a guy with the same name, David Pulsipher, in New York. Apparently though, this is a different David Pulsipher. Weird, huh? He has a good blog, though. Thoughtful. And he gets TONS of comments. He wrote a post yesterday morning and had 37 comments by this morning. 37. How does that happen?

They're going on the links to the right.

I'm thankful for: Other people's insights. Man, it makes the world more interesting.