Elvis Enthusiasts Unite

Be fearless.

2012-01-25T14:09:00.001-07:00

"So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take  the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to  a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may  appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more  dangerous to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future.  The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for  adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new  experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly  changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun." —  Chris McCandless

Esperanza Spalding & Gretchen Parlato — "Useless Landscape (Inutil Paisagem)"

2012-01-24T11:36:00.000-07:00

Today's musical diversion is simple enough. It's this one. Right here. Not brand new by any means, but that doesn't much matter, does it? Esperanza Splalding has always flat out amazed me and this take on a Jobim tune is a welcome reminder of her talent. Thanks, Internet, for leading me in that proper direction.

Rest. — Richard Jones

2012-01-23T05:40:00.000-07:00

It's so late I could cut my lights
and drive the next fifty miles
of empty interstate
by starlight,
flying along in a dream,
countryside alive with shapes and shadows,
but exit ramps lined
with eighteen wheelers
and truckers sleeping in their cabs
make me consider pulling into a rest stop
and closing my eyes. I've done it before,
parking next to a family sleeping in a Chevy,
mom and dad up front, three kids in the back,
the windows slightly misted by the sleepers' breath.
But instead of resting, I'd smoke a cigarette,
play the radio low, and keep watch over
the wayfarers in the car next to me,
a strange paternal concern
and compassion for their well being
rising up inside me.
This was before
I had children of my own,
and had felt the sharp edge of love
and anxiety whenever I tiptoed
into darkened rooms of sleep
to study the small, peaceful faces
of my beloved darlings. Now,
the fatherly feelings are so strong
the snoring truckers are lucky
I'm not standing on the running board,
tapping on the window,
asking, Is everything okay?
But it is. Everything's fine.
The trucks are all together, sleeping
on the gravel shoulders of exit ramps,
and the crowded rest stop I'm driving by
is a perfect oasis in the moonlight.
The way I see it, I've got a second wind
and on the radio an all-night country station.
Nothing for me to do on this road
but drive and give thanks:
I'll be home by dawn.

— Richard Jones

Wordless Wednesday.

2012-01-18T14:04:00.002-07:00

Happy birthday, Elvis!

2012-01-08T17:36:00.000-07:00

Bryan John Appleby may, in fact, cure what ails you.

2012-01-04T09:37:00.001-07:00

I regularly wish for a magic wand to wave. If I had it, the technology they teased us with in The Jetsons would presto change-o exist and I'd not have to depend on cheap airplane seats and work schedules to allow me to pop into any part of the world I wanted. And, more specifically, I'd get to be at Kilby Court in Salt Lake City in just over two weeks to sit at Bryan John Appleby's feet, quietly demanding triple and quadruple encores out of him. And there would be campfire songs after that while the snow fell and people would put off breathing for an hour, lest we cover up the beauty of the long moment. Am I laying it on too thick? Am I, really?

I'm not sure how well known he is in those parts just yet (and, if I had that wand, I'd wave it and change that noise real quick, too), but that's so entirely beside the point. Selfishly, I want to be there more than I want most things right now. On a bigger scale, perhaps, those who love the best kind of music ought to put aside whatever they're doing to be there as well. Especially if they're within a few hours of a drive. It'd do good things for their hearts, that's what I think. *

Show's on January 21st (since you were asking). And it'll blend well with that winter weather.

If it's good enough for George Clooney, it's good enough for me.

2012-01-01T20:18:00.000-07:00

When she stops mid-conversation, looks at me and says, "Your grey hair suits you," I'm inclined to a) immediately like her more, b) compliment her on her amazing ability to lie or c) some combination of the two.

The Rose — Charlie Smith.

2011-12-29T08:34:00.000-07:00

I’m looking everywhere for new ways,
poking, selecting, looking everywhere,
turning the trees over, rummaging among skirts
and stars. I’m so lonely and intense, so
tense and energetic, I’m getting up early
to touch the slick habit of ice on the windowsill,
to touch dust and the dried blue berries of juniper.
I’m shaking and scared of life,
and of the absence of life, childless, love
buried out in the prairie far from here
under the shifty grass; I’m watching the white birds
drift up from the south, reading the last lights
in the tall buildings like lines of white type
spelling the future, I’m into everything
haphazardly and wholly, revenant and pilgrim,
I’m looking as I go and I go formally and
rapidly, moving through gales of solitude,
through crowds and the cries of young children;
I’m tasting, I’m smelling everything, I’m
stooping in Chinatown to lick the boots of
the Buddhists, I’m pressing my bare skin
to the ancient stone designs of artisans lost
to the world; I’m looking everywhere, I’m alert,
I’m open like a child’s blue coat as he runs,
I’m ready for bronze and happiness, I’m gamely
adjusting the water level, I’m forgiving it all,
telling it all, hearing it all, I’m ready
for fake silk patches spilling from envelopes,
I’m ready for a “vague splintering of rain,”
ready—I’m looking everywhere—for a delicate means
of transition, I’m stumbling against
beauty and not apologizing, I’m almost naked here,
skinnier than I used to be, almost helpless
or maybe I’m completely helpless as the religious
say is the way to heaven—all right I’m helpless—
I’m swaying on the platform, I’m tenderly
toasting the bread, I’m placing the saucer,
the spoon on the tray, I’m arranging the rose,
I’m pulling the curtain, I’m letting light flood the room.

Charlie Smith

Happy Holidays, eh?

2011-12-28T11:14:00.003-07:00

24 things I'm grateful for: a list.

2011-12-14T14:42:00.001-07:00

1. That I work in a place where my name is occasionally replaced with ‘punkin.’

2. When I can make my mom cry her eyes out and know it was because I did a good thing.

3. Sometimes being able to talk to the interesting sorts around the nation, share their stories with others and even get a regular paycheck for doing so.

4. Pumpkin. Great gourdy gobs of sweet-tasting, autumnal-spiced pumpkin.

5. Being able to do four unassisted backbends.

6. Getting remembered by someone I truly enjoy, then talking for an hour, until we both run out of words.

7. Luz, the waitress who gifted us with a free tiramisu, even though it was about four-and-a-half months past my birthday. Sometimes free tastes better.

8. The fact my “I’d really like to see if I can and I really want to” comes out as “I can totally do that.” Sometimes (and that’s enough).

9. Discovering continual inspiration in a friend I already admire.

10. DayQuil.

11. Being able to comfort a friend without knowing at all what to say. Sometimes it just takes a couple of ears and three hours sitting impossibly close in a van for things to feel better than they once felt.

12. Having a friend help me, too, without even so much as knowing it.

13. Feeling raindrops on my face during yoga in Nicaragua.

14. Coconut and pineapple shrimp curry. Land sakes.

15. Getting to hear fishermen singing in Spanish before they dive and go about their work … you don’t need to speak the language to understand the feeling.

16. Nina Simone singing to me in the nighttime (okay, anytime, really).

17. Open hearts.

18. Being able to notice an open heart, in myself or others.

19. When it’s cool enough to live with an open window at night, I sincerely wish I could locate Mother Nature, just so I could high five her.

20. For a next-door neighbor who neatly piles my collected newspapers on my porch when I skip town for a few days.

21. Remembering what it feels like to hold someone close.

22. Surviving a wayward GPS leading a rental too far up a mountain in the Dominican Republic (a very specific thank you and answer to a plea).

23. Dancers who’ve a true sense of rhythm.

24. Crumbling walls.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-12-14T08:01:00.000-07:00

thanks, PASTE.

"Wonderful (The Way I Feel)" — My Morning Jacket.

2011-12-12T10:54:00.000-07:00

I can't say I felt especially wonderful at the My Morning Jacket show last night, at least not right away. After about 10 days of back-to-back travel and cramped flights and some all-too-brief nights of shut-eye, a night of being on my feet at the Hard Rock wasn't exactly what the doctor ordered. At least, that is, until this song came on. Pardon my shaky hands, and go ahead and close your eyes if you have to ... but just put your life on pause and let this song wash over you. It'll do your body good (as it did mine).

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-12-07T01:05:00.000-07:00

thank you, louisiana. thank you.

I still love you, New York.

2011-12-05T08:04:00.000-07:00

I don't try very hard to stay away from New York. And, every time I go there and spend a few days, I get to taste and do more than I did the time before. This time it was famous old delis and Jewish pastries I still can't pronounce and wandering around during the day and night, even risking both life and limb on an ice skating ring (no, not Rockefeller ... it was far too crowded). I could list everything out, maybe, but that one moment I like to relive this morning? It's simple, but it comes down to discovering a woman on the street, happily peeling mangoes, cutting them up and placing them in tiny plastic bags. I'd never seen such a thing, so I had to try it out. I bought one of them off of her and continued on my way, but not before she added a generous amount of hot sauce, salt and lemon juice. It set me back just three dollars, but the taste was worth far, far more. New York, if nothing else, is incredibly, impossibly, undeniably delicious.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-11-30T02:35:00.000-07:00

Dominican Republic Thanksgiving.

2011-11-28T21:26:00.001-07:00

I’d heard about the iguanas and I so wanted to see the purported island full of them, but that never got round to happening. The pamphlet even touted a-thousand flamingoes and caves for the exploring and such and those, too, sounded like they’d be easy to add to that short list of things that had to happen.

Instead, though, instead the Dominican Republic was filled with the chewing of broken Spanish words and accidentally crunchy, half-filled roadside chicken empanadas. It was having misguided faith in an ancient GPS unit, right up until the eager-to-please rental would no longer scale an unpaved road leading up a mountain, the one dotted with burros and confused locals. It was big slabs of pork shoulder hanging from hooks on the side of the road and strings of pink snapper sold to those driving by that were not either one of us. It was admiring the children and their braids and moms for being able to balance big bowls on their heads without bothering to use hands. Huge rollers in her hair. Roosters singing along with the sunrise. Not using blinkers while on the road and fading in with the locals. Spanish music, with a side of reggaeton on the dial, por favor. Sailing on an ancient sailboat and peering at egrets with binoculars for the low price of a-thousand pesos. It was witnessing oblivious singers and in-the-street dancers. It was sharing a wave with a whole lot of children. Honking, so much honking. Travel advice from gas jockeys not bothering to lean on English. Girl working at customs who sees my passport, instantly smirks and says “Looking good.” Oh, plantains. Small trucks so weighed down by pounds and pounds of green bananas. El Presidente. Stars pinned up in the sky while on a quiet balcony at 4am, save for the occasional goat baaaaing down below. New levels of honesty in a friendship, a hole broken clean through a once well-constructed wall. Swimming without sunscreen. Never, ever eating indoors, opting for candles and such. It was saying and repeating (interchangeably) “I can’t believe how beautiful all of this is” and “I just love vacation.” It was a longish sigh of a paid few days off without so much of a mention of turkey.

Oh, it was steamed pink snapper and black frijoles and a woman who owned a restaurant without a menu, yet still managed to scare up the best chicken and hot sauce we’d ever had for all of five dollars each. Cream of pumpkin soup, are you serious? Free breakfast every morning, are you serious? Pieces of papaya cut in the shape of the island. It was ocean water bleached clear over smooth skipping rocks painted white. It was too short, but it was right. No working cell phone and brief hiccups of wifi, if the wind blew right. It was warm when it should have been and cool when it needed to be. Windshield washed for 20 pesos, okay, all right, I’ll be your sucker for a second. So, so many mopeds. Driving on the wrong side of the street and not feeling at all nervous for doing so.

It was magnificent.

No iguanas. Not a one. I think I ended up with the better part(s) of the deal. Travel, like life, appears best left to the possibilities, the eventual surprise destinations, the varied parts making up the curiosities of the journey all along the long, wide-eyed fascinating way.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-11-23T13:10:00.001-07:00

as yet untitled.

2011-11-22T20:32:00.002-07:00

It helps to have a goal in mind.

Say, when that New York afterthought

of an October visit

fell together, it was to see leaves painted

yellow, brown and orange

evidence of a season not wanting

to be forgotten.

And now, in a spot of Nicaragua

so rarely visited, and in the midst

of a power outage

and facing the sea

I recall the goal being discovery,

seeing what hadn’t yet been,

filling eyes up with surprises.

The gut wanted it.

When I don’t want to offer an explanation,

I take that easy route, the one

not as true: “I wanted to find a spot

where the sun gave out more warmth

this time of year.” And it slowly puzzles,

is eventually accepted.

I didn’t expect howler monkeys singing at 6,

hermit crabs stepping sideways out of my sand-path

or even the rare lonely celebrated lightning bug.

I didn’t expect the kindness of strangers

or a persistently curious mosquito,

though, they too, are my puzzle pieces.

Lessons learned.

2011-11-21T11:42:00.003-07:00

Not treating people in such a way because they've done what you have perceived to be a good thing but because, by and large, everyone, everywhere is deserving of your kindness, no matter what it is they have done, are doing or will do. Letting bygones be exactly that and not pieces you can hold on to to use against someone later and hit them below the belt with it. Not giving a "gift" to someone because he or she has done you a kindness, but because you want to and need to give of yourself ... and because you most certainly can. Always, always, always act "as if" and let the cards fall where they may.

I guess I'm just picking pieces up along the path. Life's pretty good.

Bad Reputation — Foo Fighters & Joan Jett

2011-11-17T21:49:00.001-07:00

Hey, look! Look which song went and got even better! And, as I'm a pretty fair-to-middlin' fan of the Foo, I'm more than incredibly (pleasantly?) surprised that it is Dave Grohl and crew making this song even better than it was already. This is powerful happiness, that's what this is. By all means, enjoy at maximum volume.

Happily lost in translation: Nicaragua living.

2011-11-17T10:33:00.005-07:00

I want toretrace my steps before moving forward any more. Maybe not so much retrace,either, as relive. Having the unique advantage of sitting on a deck amongst thetrees and within earshot of the music the ocean makes, then, here are my words.I hope they’ll do.

We met Julio, atour guide who could easily answer any question we had about this country, nomatter how obscure, and we pestered him with them for the hours it took us to arriveat a dormant volcano. There was a wonderful smell hanging around the coffeeplantation on the way and bright flowers innumerable. There was a hike aroundits crater, a cloud forest (!) and the best frijoles I can ever remember eating.Fed a couple too-skinny-to-be-living dogs some of our mushy bananas.

A ziplinefollowed, high amongst the trees, and we flew upside down and like Superman.Sweat, laughed, freaked out and landed.

Traveled towardsGranada, a city that’s been around since the 1500s, and we learned of how manyparts of its shambles were being repaired. Plenty of “se vende” signs. We spentsome time in its churches and bell towers. Took a tour behind a horse namedPinole (named after a soft drink). It rained on us the whole time, but we didn’tmuch mind. I leaned on the Spanish still hanging around in this head since the9^th grade and didn’t fare too poorly. Stopped just short of singing “UnElefante Se Balanceaba” to the man at the reins.

Failed spectacularlyat paddleboarding. Succeeded at not being stung by numerous jellyfish. Didn’thave to entertain any offers to be peed on.

I so enjoyedbeing called over by a beautiful, excited Ukranian woman who showed me how thesea lights up. I’d never seen anything like it, either. Even if she doesn’tknow what it’s called or why it even occurs, spending some time playing in thewaves and agitating them, creating sparkles throughout it, is as magic as thegalaxies here on the clear nights.

Post-dinner rawchocolate class, using local cacao beans and cayenne pepper? Ma-a-a-agnificent.

I don’t evenmind that I maybe only had five hours of sleep last night. Five hours is beinggenerous. If I hadn’t have got out of bed before 7 in the morning to tacklesome yoga, I’d not have looked a family of howler monkeys in the face. Iwouldn’t have both seen and heard happy fishermen singing before diving intothe water and collecting what it held in store. Seize the day? It applies here.

And, if I hadn’thave been exactly where I am at this moment, I might not have met a local someoneable to sew up the crotch in my shorts, the one that split wide open when Ihopped onto a horse carriage the other day. God bless this country and itspeople. So rich, these images … so new and rare and cherished, theseexperiences. Someone said there is a serenity here that doesn’t exist in CostaRica. I’m not sure it’s true, but I’ll agree with that serenity bit. And how.

As for today, therewill be surfing. Or, you know, watching others do it, while I sit amongst the sand, quietly marveling. It's a beautiful, beautiful day.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-11-16T07:48:00.002-07:00

Raindrops kept falling on my head.

2011-11-14T23:35:00.001-07:00

taken from inside a tiny, tiny boat

A long day filled with being and doing, of climbing so many steps, so many times, asking so many things out of these poor calves, then jumping into a small boat to travel into a sleepy town and experience roadside tacos and local artwork and overpriced handmade jewelry. There was a finally captured cloudy smear of a sunset and there were chased dolphins, too (with nary a photo to prove the tiny baby of the bunch they had jumping in formation with the others). I've other remembrances to stack on those others, like coins on top of coins, though highlights work just as well. Blink and you'll miss these. Tomorrow will be even more filled, and there aren't many hours to go before it happens all over again but, looking back, if I were to pluck a favorite moment out of this Monday now passed, I'll go on record with just this one: having felt raindrops on my face while in a resting pose during our morning yoga class? That's way, way up there at the top.

Snapshot of a Sunday night: Nicaragua.

2011-11-13T20:30:00.002-07:00

It took a couple of flights and what amounted to being a very long, bumpy taxi cab ride to arrive here but, the good part is that we did so safely: I'm in Nicaragua! And, yes, it's a yoga retreat of sorts and, no, I didn't come simply for the yoga. While it's great to set aside 90 minutes out of the day to tie and untie my body in a knot on a platform outside, both looking at and hearing the ocean below the whole time, I was drawn to this business for the adventure; I came because I'd never been before. I also wanted to meet the other like minds, the other adventurers, the thrill-seekers. The good part? I've found a good lot of them.

I'm in a wooden villa, built high amongst the trees (it's practically a treehouse). I get to take my showers out on the balcony if I want to (I do!) and there's a plunge pool right outside my front door (which amounts to an unheated hot tub). It's only just past 9 over this way, though most have gone to bed. Only a couple days into this trek and it's become so easy to follow the sun's schedule, rising when it does and retiring not long after it dips below the horizon. The howler monkeys will be starting up soon enough. Ah! The bed is comfortable and dreams of fresh papaya and guava juice are so ready to begin.

What's more, a man can hear his thoughts here. Whatever level of stress there was in my life before this venture (on that little to none level), let's just say it's gone and dropped a few notches lower.

I sound like some kind of a hippy reborn. I absolutely swear I'm not. But, this? I could get used to this. This is some kind of fairly undiscovered paradise.

These emptier fingers.

2011-11-10T19:51:00.000-07:00

Oft-times

when I’m asked what I fear

I try in absolute earnest

to clamber around for one

and prop it up on semi-proud display

because I know it and so well, too

as we have stare out competitions

every Thursday mid-morning

just to familiarize ourselves

with the other

feign bravery, minutes on end

before slinking away.

That one fear used to be paper cuts

but even it has lost

the silent wince.

Even it.

Just tonight I found one, though.

If I were to run out of words,

hands and typing fingers left empty,

what would I do with this desire?

This empty shell of a man would still

wander, but fail to share about

it later. Perhaps I shouldn’t write

quite so much, just in case. Perhaps

tonight I’ll cozy up to a neighbor’s TV set,

stop with these thoughts.

The very expert ones know

ignoring your fear gets you

both everywhere and nowhere.

Tom Waits — "Satisfied"

2011-11-09T20:20:00.001-07:00

Now I know, at long last, that I do need this album. And it will be mine .. oh yes, it will be mine.

I Know You Got Soul.

2011-11-08T11:50:00.001-07:00

For a good time, see what this sounds like in your ear-holes. I like nothing more than being able to share these mixes I've pieced together from a time gone by. From cassette tapes to compact discs to a simple click of a play button on your computer screen. Turn it up and carry on. And I sure hope this bunch of songs transports you right back to the 70s. It came right out of my pile of CDs and I figured it needed a new audience. It's been hiding far too long. If you've any comments, by all means, spill 'em!

There are levels of friendship.

2011-11-07T15:04:00.000-07:00

We've so few of them, these friends. There are the ones who put on a smile for you if you happen to see them (when and if), they usually begging quotations around the title of "friend," and there are the ones who remain so, past moving to other states and falling into and out of the shackles of love, where being busy and doing errands don't count as excuses for not calling and connecting, when time and distance are less obstacles than they are realities you wade past. Those latter types are the ones I'm after, those I'd stick in my pockets if it was feasible to do so. And then there are still others (this being a new category unto itself, recently discovered, like so many dinosaur bones) who you felt you were locked in with, those you had history with, those who knew your jokes and still laughed at them anyway. Only, well, they've dropped off, no right explanations accepted, like being left without a guidebook. The sense being, of course, that they've no more need for you, not in a-million, and you're left to fend without a right arm, one you'd done so many good things with before: the phantom limb never going away, not entirely. Or, maybe it does, maybe it does, given time. It's far easier to bemoan the fresh wound, though. It might be like those empty nesting parents who have to adjust to a child who has become a man and holds mom and dad in a different sort of regard than he once did, but I've no real proof of that. I simply know it hurts to have to steer around a void. You're left still alone, but only, well, decidedly more so. Especially if it happens twice, and unexpectedly, without warning. Trap doors. Pulled out rugs. Especially then. The only antidote is to be certain you're there for them, of course, whenever they need it, if they need it. You know how it should work or how it might work a little better. You have ideas. Just, for the love, don't call in the replacements. Substitute teachers never seem to slide into that left behind pair of shoes so well. And you know that full well. Too well.

Less beauty, more Beast.

2011-11-05T17:05:00.001-06:00

I hate to break it to you, but this little guy (my wee nephew) was probably cuter than your kid, niece or nephew was this past Halloween. I mean, if we're gonna get down to brass tacks about it and stuff, I'm fairly certain he'd have to go ahead and win. Best (and least intimidating) little Beast I've ever seen.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-11-02T14:20:00.001-06:00

Remember, remember.

2011-11-01T17:51:00.001-06:00

This being the brand new start of a favorite month, I figured there would be many November poems out there to read and rifle through and think on. And, while there are quite a lot, each citing change and seasons and very old English, in the absence of having written a decent one myself, I'll share this simple thought, which I rather like, and might even adhere to, were I not living exactly where I am.

Then again, leaves aren't exactly necessary in this scenario, not if you think good and hard about it.

"Even if something is left undone, everyone must take time to sit still and watch the leaves turn." — Elizabeth Lawrence

Lonely Boy — The Black Keys.

2011-10-28T07:48:00.000-06:00

And with a good song, there is dancing. Where there is dancing, there is unabashed joy. And so it is with this, a sure-fire remedy for a rainy day, a sign of things to come prior to a Halloween weekend.

The date's not bad, it just smells that way.

2011-10-27T21:56:00.004-06:00

What if her mouth says "Thanks, I had a great time," but everything in her face and uncomfortable laugh seems to scream, "GET ME OUT OF HERE" and "THIS IS NEVER HAPPENING AGAIN" and "I'M SURE GLAD HE PAID FOR MY SUSHI," what then? I don't so much listen to words as much as I sense vibes. And being on the receiving end of a rain check thrice usually merits a night where this sort of anti-connection happens all over itself. Live, learn. Ah, but at least she had pretty eyes. At least there was that.

If dating were as easy as getting good sushi right, this world would be an easier one to live in. Not to mention? Lots more delicious.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-10-26T12:33:00.000-06:00

Gregory Alan Isakov — If I Go, I'm Goin'

2011-10-23T16:16:00.001-06:00

A comfortable Sunday song never hurt nobody. I've seen this man perform and talked with him and felt the same sincerity and warmth with which he performs. It sorta makes it even better, you know?

This Saturday sense.

2011-10-22T10:29:00.001-06:00

On some Saturdays, when the temperature's made a mad dash toward the cool, and the air conditioning's been shut off for a season, the wood floor feeling so unlike it ever has in a long line of months, fleece pants being worn for the a first time, on some Saturdays (so much like this one), it feels like a long-time-coming fulfilled requirement to still be under these scattered covers, and just this much past noon, too. And there is change in the air to add to this sunshine streaming in, these chilled toes, this day in absolutely no rush to be defined.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-10-19T14:36:00.000-06:00

Wouldn't it be nice?

2011-10-18T18:36:00.002-06:00

I can get away with saying I am pretty happy being mostly alone and that I might even go out of my way to remain so, despite the rare near miss of a (gasp!) relationship. I can say this because, to a large extent, I believe it to be true: having existed as one of those single sorts for most of my life, I can say this kind of thing with more authority than most others can even get away with. I'm pretty good at the solitary way. However, on a night like this one, I can see where having someone to come home to, simply to unload on for as long as it takes, might do some good. A whole pile of good.

Driving home from work today, I attempted to come up with a single understanding ear or friend that I might do that sort of thing with, too, and failed each time I thought I had it figured. And so the commute happened, radio shut off, and it was just me against my thoughts. Which, you know, I don't mind all that much. I'm used to them. They tend to make sense. It'd just be nice to have that someone around to tell my troubles to, as they've happened to bubble to the surface. Just once a year. Once a year isn't too much to ask after that sort of a thing.

Or perhaps I just need a dog at my side, once and for all, one that'd have to listen, no matter what.

Time — Paul Jacobsen & The Madison Arm.

2011-10-17T00:54:00.001-06:00

And every passing year is just a deeper shade of grey.
And the kid in all the polaroids slowly fades away.

I miss Ruth's Diner.
My Radio Flyer.

Andy Williams: still terrorizing after all these years.

2011-10-15T14:42:00.000-06:00

Happiness isn't taking joy in discovering your kid sister is more than a little bit terrorized by a certain Andy Williams album cover because "he won't stop looking at me," propping up said cover near the dinner table in the early 80s and proceeding to enjoy watching her squirm and whine all the way through the meal, dinner after blessed dinner. Oh, no. True happiness, then, is finding album after album of his in the back room of an antique mall on a Saturday afternoon, snapping photos of each, then sending them her way, these twentysomething years later, discovering he still has the same effect on her. Now and only now do I understand true joy. Now my heart is full.

Slippin' Into Darkness.

2011-10-14T15:10:00.000-06:00

Maybe today (or this weekend ... or any old time after it, even), you should listen to this mix I pieced together, oh, earlier this year or the year before it. I was doing a mix exchange with a friend of mine and, instead of grabbing at whatever new songs of the moment were being posted in various corners of the internets, I decided I'd make something more thematic, something that came from careful collecting of albums and old-fashioned compact discs over the years. I dove into my shelves and this is what I came up with. And, in the end, there was some white man dance boogie goodness going on. I'd almost be proud of it, too, but it's the music and mood that makes this one; all I did was piece it together. It's some of that old school soul, old sweaty funk, new funk (which is nothing like crappy new jazz, but maybe less sweaty), Blaxploitation kind of goodness. It's like breaking off a piece of Quentin Tarantino soundtrack. May it serve you well, should you choose to take the click-and-listen journey.

The Force is Strong with Me.

2011-10-12T12:17:00.001-06:00

I'm not very certain anyone comes to this spot on the web much anymore, what, with all of the other more worthy distractions out there, but I felt like I needed to come here today, if only to share this tidbit to the couple of avid Google Reader checkers out there dying to know whatever tends to land here.

I left my hooded sweatshirt in my friend’s car after lunch yesterday. Since he works a couple floors up, he told me to run out to his minivan (no laughing) and he’d open it for me from there. As I arrived, he opened it, just as he said he would: the whole side door opened up by itself. I stood next to his car and pretended I was opening it with The Force, quickly grabbed my sweatshirt, then proceeding to close it with The Force. Somebody pulled up near the car while it was all happening.

I didn't stick around to see the looks on their amazed faces, but I’m pretty sure they thought I was magic.

Nature jog.

2011-10-01T09:52:00.001-06:00

millcreek canyon, somewhere near dog lake

David Williams — Sunday Morning.

2011-09-27T15:26:00.000-06:00

The last brief blink of a conversation I had with David Williams, breezing through Utah sometime in the late spring or early summer, I made mention of this video and how great I thought it was. I don't claim to know whose idea it was but, well, you don't see many music videos recorded in the outdoors, in the frosty light of early morning, and not in places I'm readily familiar with, either. The song is superb, yes, but doubly good because I can recall that state that felt like it once belonged to me. I told him he ought to head to Wyoming and record the song he named after that state next, but I don't think it's happened or even if it will.

I've my head all wrapped up in some of that Utah music today, I do. And if there's one thing this spot of the web needs more of, it's music. So watch this one, listen and even maybe love it some, as I do.

David Williams-Sunday Morning from Michael Friberg on Vimeo.

On the eve of Fall.

2011-09-22T15:19:00.002-06:00

on my back patio in the morning. my version of Fall.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-09-21T12:53:00.001-06:00

st. augustine, fl. labor day weekend, 2011.

Bring it back.

2011-09-18T21:52:00.002-06:00

A week ago today, I took a young pine cone from the mountains of Utah, threw it in my bag and claimed it a souvenir of sorts. There were so many there to spare already and my friend and I had broken so many of them in half, our hands ended up impossibly stained by the sweetest smelling sap I can remember having experienced. Even as I traveled those couple thousand of miles back, that sap remained on my fingers; I wasn’t entirely eager to wash it off. The goal was that, in my darker times, I might be able to break it in half and breathe in a little of that blink of a visit, that it might take me back to the kind of outdoors I adore so much.

Now, just a few days later, that same pine cone is falling apart, shedding pieces of bark and such all over my place, protesting my having taken it from there to here. That, or it’s choosing to spread itself further than it ever would have on a dirt floor. I don’t want to break it in half, either, not now and maybe not at all. Besides, it seems it’s on its way out as it is.

I hate to look into the future any further than I have to, but I already know this will be a truth of mine to add to the others: I’ll miss that little pine cone.

A short Gillian Welch review, Salt Lake City chapter.

2011-09-17T19:22:00.001-06:00

Gillian Welch Salt Lake City set list (Sept. '11).

Life's slowed long enough for me to let everyone with ears to hear and eyes to see know this: the Gillian Welch show in Salt Lake City last weekend was all kinds of worth it. I'm pretty glad I bought two tickets straightaway when she didn't add Orlando to her list of "must play" cities. I'm very thankful my friend Genevieve tipped me off about a pre-sale, landing me in the second row to witness that goodness, too. It was a good two-and-a-half blessed hours of good, solid, craftsmanship. It was stepping back in time, when concerts used to be more substance than they were spectacle ... a big stage in an old theater with a couple of chairs and a couple of microphones and a couple of the most solid performers I've wrapped ears around ... David Rawlings never missing a note on that guitar and Gillian sounding better than I'd ever have expected she might (and that goes for the horse hooves clippity-clop sound she made with her hands and the unexpected off-to-the-side clogging, too).

They dipped into their deep well of songs and I left wholly satisfied, having heard every song I'd have wanted to and some I was surprised by (I'm looking at you, Johnny Cash song of a show closer). I suppose the songs they gave us were sad, too, for they said the same ... Depression era styled music for a more modern day ... but I wasn't there to shed tears. I was filled with something else. In fact, I wore a grin so long on my face, I didn't know I was doing just that until my face started to hurt. Earning a couple of extra laugh lines to see one of your favorite musicians for the first time, though? Worth it. So worth it, a-thousand times over.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-09-13T22:41:00.000-06:00

KRCL was my happy place.

2011-09-08T16:27:00.000-06:00

This Hurting Song.

2011-09-08T13:38:00.001-06:00

Wrote a lonesome song for a friend, one that started with a chorus that appeared while I was on an island in Seattle. He was kind enough to spend three hours with it on his porch and turned it into a country waltz. Happened to be in a Louvin Brothers sort of mood, so that's the way it went. I haven't heard it yet and don't know when I'll get that chance to. I do know I heard his voice singing it before I finished writing it completely. I do know he trusted me enough to take it, run with it and work the kinks out the only way he knew how to do. And, while I'm some kind of novice in this songwriting arena, I also know that this can't help but bring me great big bucketfuls of joy.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-09-07T13:55:00.000-06:00

The Features — Content

2011-09-02T08:44:00.000-06:00

Does this bring me a curious kind of joy? Why, yes, yes it certainly does. May it lead you in the right direction this long weekend. It's been a long time coming, it has.

My neighbor is my neighbor no more.

2011-08-31T11:11:00.002-06:00

It’s been five days since the man living three doors down died.

There was yellow police tape all around his front yard, strewn up like lazy birthday streamers between the trees, enough parked police cars (those with lights and not) to clog my too narrow street and the wary, almost tiptoeing onlookers on the outskirts, they with the hushed tones and darting eyes. The mind races in a happenstance like this one, tries to make sense of what it sees, this scene borrowed from the movies.

Who shot who? What drugs were involved? And I thought I lived in a safer neighborhood than this.

I added myself to those curious onlookers straightaway, wanting to ask someone, but not knowing anyone enough to do so, each of us in search of answers. Wanting to ask one of the policemen so intent on their reports, but not doing so. Instead, it suits my purposes to peek, wonder in quiet and hope to piece together a story with any possible clues. Only there aren’t any. No body or bullet holes or bloodstains. And it’s as quiet as it always is, where the number of cats here outnumbers anyone else outside and the bird conversations take up more airspace than the human ones.

And then there’s the next-door neighbor whose name I can’t recall, the too-old-for-braces wife of a sometimes writer, she whose welcome home greeting to me not so long ago was a rather matter-of-fact: “You have a beard.” She’s faking the lightest of yard work and, lucky for me, is all too eager to share her version of the story. She must’ve asked what I couldn’t.

It sort of goes like this. Man from Puerto Rico, a 70-years-old sort who didn’t speak so much English, working on a car in his driveway. Engine was running, was in park. Popped out of park and came at him, pinning him between two cars. Force pushed this erstwhile mechanic of a man and a parked car into his backyard, where all three ended in a heap in a shallow, empty swimming pool. He probably died instantly.

His wife heard a noise in the backyard and called 911. It’s when the cops came. They needed a crane to pull the cars and body out. But, hours after it happened, they still hadn’t done so.

He was a pastor of his own church, she’d said, mentioning a sect I’ve never heard of nor recall now, and their family had been wanting so badly to go back to Puerto Rico. It was in their cards and plans.

I never knew the man. I’ve been borrowing this house so near his since mid-June and have seen him only once in that time. He was parking a boat of a car and doing a fantastic job not hitting the other neighbor’s garbage can in the process. It seems he checked out doing what he so loved to do only I’m not certain what’d his family might choose for an epitaph, these being such very peculiar circumstances.

And the questions should be posed, he being a man of God and prone to such strong beliefs, as to whether or not he felt it was his time to go before he did? In those last fleeting seconds, when that long life of his flashed so suddenly and unexpectedly, was he at all prepared to do so? Had he felt this in his old bones before it’d all taken place? Was his strong desire and plan to go home to his country really a misplaced premonition that he’d be heading home to his God?

Cats predict death so often. It’s not so far-fetched that an old Puerto Rican man goes and does the same.

I want to bring them a plate of brownies this week or so later, offer it to those who still live there, they with the always-closed doors and pulled shades, but I’m fairly certain I won’t. I’ll just keep driving by the house in the morning and remember and wonder and hope they’re adjusting to one less life in their midst.

Seventy years was a lot. I just hope it was enough.

Failing and Flying — Jack Gilbert

2011-08-26T06:20:00.000-06:00

Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.
It’s the same when love comes to an end,
or the marriage fails and people say
they knew it was a mistake, that everybody
said it would never work. That she was
old enough to know better. But anything
worth doing is worth doing badly.
Like being there by that summer ocean
on the other side of the island while
love was fading out of her, the stars
burning so extravagantly those nights
that anyone could tell you they would never last.
Every morning she was asleep in my bed
like a visitation, the gentleness in her
like antelope standing in the dawn mist.
Each afternoon I watched her coming back
through the hot stony field after swimming,
the sea light behind her and the huge sky
on the other side of that. Listened to her
while we ate lunch. How can they say
the marriage failed? Like the people who
came back from Provence (when it was Provence)
and said it was pretty but the food was greasy.
I believe that Icarus was not failing as he fell,
but just coming to the end of his triumph.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-08-24T10:29:00.002-06:00

"Let Me Down" — Tony Kevin Jr.

2011-08-23T14:50:00.003-06:00

I was first introduced to this song by the guy singing it, live and wearing a ridiculous poncho, on an island outside of Seattle. Trees to my front, water at my back. A tiny replacement band providing the set of music and a bunch of reverent listeners sprawled all over the grass, drinking it in. When he got to the first "Give me one more chance to let you down ..." part, everybody was singing it along with him. It kept happening, too. Someday I hope to blame this song ... and that moment alone ... for making me up and move to the Pacific Northwest. Because you never know.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-08-17T13:31:00.002-06:00

All praise Bryan John Appleby!

2011-08-09T18:37:00.001-06:00

Just in case anybody was wondering, it may not get better than this song, this voice, this singer-songwriter of a shaggy man and this video right here. I'm just counting my lucky stars (of which I have 7) because I do believe I'll be seeing him do this very thing (and quite soon, no less). Less boat and more beard, to be sure, but I'm very okay with that. Seek after his music, too. He's a keeper. Keep him in your iPod and on your record players. I think we're gonna be beard brothers.

Louisiana photo-op.

2011-08-07T20:45:00.000-06:00

I'm not real certain what I'm pledging my allegiance to here. Perhaps the weight of my pec was so great I needed to hold it up. Regardless, this was at a shoot last week in a tiny Louisiana town in 107 degrees (125 if you're counting that heat index, which we most certainly were). This was me wishing I wasn't in jeans. Humidity is a killer. I heard some cows were falling down dead in that craziness, even. I kid you not. Who kids about dead cows? Not this guy.

Mariachi + Beluga Whale = JOY.

2011-08-05T13:05:00.001-06:00

Don't try and deny it now.

Quote of the day.

2011-07-27T15:20:00.002-06:00

"Time is the one commodity above all that is our true possession ... Time's most important quality is that it passes, that we have only a finite amount. Therefore, be aware of its value and know that when you give your time, you're giving of your life." — Daphne Rose Kingma

The Devil Whale — Butter For Burns.

2011-07-25T19:36:00.003-06:00

Once upon a time, I (along with lots of those music-loving others) helped The Devil Whale put out a second album by participating in their Kickstarter project. It was one of those no-brainers in the world of choices: they're a band I liked plenty, they created songs I could connect with, I wanted to see them succeed and, selfishly, I just wanted at that new album already. Fast forward a lot of months. The album's been out for a bit, they sound better than I think they ever have before (seriously, just catch them live already), they're on the road more than they are in Utah anymore, opening for The Head and The Heart and a gaggle of others and, well, they're just on their way. I couldn't be prouder.

And, as a bit of a thank you prize, I got to pick out a song for them to make a video of, one that's been a favorite of mine for a very long time. Today, they came through on that promise. Even managed to include Jen Woods (she who provided the lovely vocals on the recorded version of this one). Since it's just a day after my birthday, I'm going to go ahead and pretend this was practically one of those not entirely expected, belated gifts.

Better than cake, even.

I hope you like it like I do.

Butter For Burns from ben bishop on Vimeo.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-07-20T04:55:00.000-06:00

Pollyn is ear candy.

2011-07-15T10:05:00.001-06:00

And, c'mon, who doesn't like candy?

Pollyn "How Small We Are" from Pollyn on Vimeo.

Hump Day Holiday.

2011-07-14T18:15:00.004-06:00

Yesterday I decided to go for a long drive after work, if just to break up the monotony of my norm some. It took me to the Space Coast, a place I so rarely go, but an interesting blend of patriotism and boarded-up buildings and beach all at once. I got to smell the ocean in the week’s middle, see a mostly full moon shine down on the water, get rained on and even enjoy a rainbow. Saw both ends of it, in fact. I listened to the David Rawlings Machine do a cover of a Bright Eyes tune that turned into a Neil Young song at the end, all 10 minutes long of it, three times in a row. Spent a good chunk of gas and found a couple tacos to put in me before I journeyed back again. It was a few hours to just be in the middle of a week. I suppose sometimes that’s needed.

I tend to enjoy my loneliness. And, when I say that, I must explain that I don’t see the word as the sad one it usually implies. I simply like my being alone, being able to see so much of the new in this beautiful place and run around in bare feet and shorts all the year long and soak it all up in a bit of quiet reverence and admiration. There’s a lot to this place and so much more to see yet.

I’m glad my path has led me to exactly where I am.

The Harrow & The Harvest - The Making of an Album Cover.

2011-07-08T12:17:00.004-06:00

This is truly one of the coolest things I've seen musicians do in a very long time, making absolutely certain that the packaging representing their album is as unique and timeless as the songs they create together. I suppose it makes sense that the musicians in question—Gillian Welch & David Rawlings—are already songwriters I adore, respect and admire. They're on tour throughout the United States from now until December and, even though it doesn't look like they'll pass through Florida (regardless of how much subtle online begging I do), I'm going to do my best to go and meet them where ever it is they'll be. And, even though it'll be the first time for me, I imagine hearing their songs live will be like meeting a dear, old friend, with a hug I don't quite want to end.

If I spoke bird.

2011-07-06T20:42:00.003-06:00

I'm not a pet owner. I'm not around enough to have a bulldog and, lately, I'm chasing big, lazy Morris the Cat types off of my patio chairs like a crochety old man, so it's just as well. What I do have on my back patio, however, is an upside down bucket that I dump a cup of wild birdseed on every day or two. I wasn't sure if they'd show up or not, but I felt like giving it a go and, I kid you not, my birdseed brings all the birds to the yard.

I get blue jays and cardinals mostly. While I'm not an avid bird watcher (not the binocular and safari shorts variety, anyway), I do know when these birds show up for a bit of breakfast or dinner because they end up announcing their arrival. Sometimes they continue with that announcing (bunch of squawking that they manage to do with their beaks relatively full) all through their meal and/or snack. In fact, they can't shut up about it.

I don't speak bird but, if I did, I've a few ideas on what it is they're getting across out back.

1. "WHO! ATE! ALL! THE! SUN! FLOWER! SEEDS!?"

2. "So, uh, half naked guy eating a bowl of LIFE and watching us, 10 'o clock. Man, that's disgusting. If I can keep all these bits of millet down having to look at that for the next two minutes straight, I'm going to surprise myself in the process."

3. "Cat! Cat! Cat! thisisdelcious Cat!"

4. "Oh, I just love what he's done with the splash of rain water this time around. This is just gourmet gorgeous. Created a little gravy in the middle is what he did. So delightfully moist and chewy."

5. "O, great wise bucket of the porch! We come to you in humble birdsgiving! Long may we praise and squawk and visit you with our incredibly silly slackjawed beaks! May you continue to provide us your golden bits and pieces."

6. "Seriously, what have I said about dropping your nasty bird droppings where you eat? Bill, was that you again? Don't think I don't know this is one of yours."

7. "I so just swallowed a feather."

8. "Dude, do you smell possum? Armadillo? Totally doing a number on my allergies."

9. "Can't eat the whole thing, but it's not going to finish itself. Can't sit here all day, but can't fly away anymore, either. Nomnomnomsquawknom."

But, again, what do I know? I don't speak bird. I'm just, you know, spitballin' over here.

Walking in a Wilco wonderland.

2011-06-30T07:35:00.003-06:00

So my friend Heather let me commandeer her blog for all of five seconds, long enough for me to throw up some musings on my weekend with Wilco in the shady, rainy Massachusetts woodland. If you feel like stepping into my mind for around 1,000 words or so and seeing a couple photos of what these eyes saw, by all means, be my guest. And, if you've never been over to her part of the world, I'd advise you stick around and admire the scenery there. Take your time. Smell those roses. If you like music and discovering the new stuff, she's got plenty to show and tell. I tend to like it at Fuel/Friends.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-06-29T06:23:00.000-06:00

SOLID SOUND 2011: Wilco has "Reservations".

2011-06-28T12:38:00.000-06:00

Call, answer.

2011-06-27T14:06:00.002-06:00

"What are you doing today?" she asked that afternoon turning to a night, the question plucked out of the still sorta blued sky. She never asks that question, either, and so the mind races. The mind races because the answer ought to be right, whether or not she's looking for the right one. But there was so much to say on that day, too much to get out in a sentence or four. Halfway between North Adams and the Mohawk Trail State Forest, caught between the music crossed with small town beauty and being enveloped in a wooded, rained-on spot for the remainder of the night, the Eastern Summit boasted of its 65-mile view on a sign and that was what was happening, being experienced, taken in. So much had taken place in the last 36 and much had yet to still but, at this moment alone, there was staring and pondering and shoving a quarter into the built-in binocular viewfinder providing the eyes to look even further along the landscape. Clouds resting on top of mountain peaks that repeated themselves nine times over, pinks and blues and greens all tripping and blending into one another, the masterpiece allowing for a hollow in the chest to be filled up when it didn't even seem empty before. If there was a soul to be searched, this was a worthy backdrop. Instead, those proverbial roses were wafting in and getting good and smelled. It was enough. And all of that couldn't have been shared, not in the right way.

So I sent her a photo of that moment. "Ahhhhh," was her reply.

I'm coming for you, Tweedy.

2011-06-24T11:01:00.001-06:00

Three little birds.

2011-06-23T07:58:00.002-06:00

I feel like it's been quite a while since I went ahead and bragged on my extended family in this space. I try to be really pretty careful with how much I go about doing that, too, as I'm no mommy blogger, not by a long shot. Still, I have my moments. And this morning, I'm having one of them, like it or hate it. Here's a little video a photographer put together during a photo shoot with my sister's family. It makes we wish I were closer, of course, but mostly? I just like that I'm able to see them, period. This works for now. If I were either parent, though, I think I'd have a hard time not wanting to be around them for every single minute of the rest of their lives.

Hey, I'm just saying. It's got to be rough being their mom or dad. Whaddya think? You like?

3 Little Birds from Collin Kartchner on Vimeo.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-06-22T11:00:00.000-06:00

Cass McCombs is winning.

2011-06-20T12:56:00.003-06:00

And, by that, I'm letting on that he wins at making music. He's also got hold of my admiration and both my ears, all this Monday. There is so much beauty in this, so much fragility (both in the song and its moving pictures, yes). Thanks, Cass. As bleak as this day seems, I'm glad I've got this tune in my arsenal as its intermittent soundtrack.

Hey, Vancouver! This kiss'll make you famous.

2011-06-16T09:50:00.003-06:00

Whoever you two are, I like where your heads are at. And I like that you're absolutely not thinking about a hockey game or overturning cars or joining in with the angry, angry masses. As you were, then. Carry on.

Smitten. Again.

2011-06-14T05:04:00.002-06:00

9 observations of a weekend past.

2011-06-13T16:07:00.004-06:00

· If you are a wasp trying to build one of your nests above my front door, be warned: I will come at you with my can of Aqua Net and not feel bad about it.

· Sometimes your friend’s 11-year-old daughter replaces a hello with “I like you better with a beard on.”

· Driving your car onto a beach and then parking on it is wrong on so many levels but, in quite another, oh, so right. So very right.

· Hearing an alligator growl, out of nowhere, even if it’s at another alligator getting all up in his gator business, most certainly can and will make my skin crawl.

· Christmas, FL, does exist. And there’s the son of a gator farmer there who got named HoHo. His folks were real jokers. It’s been said: “I bet HoHo could fight.”

· If you time it right, the temperature of the ocean matches the temperature of the air perfectly. And you’ll never want to leave the water until the sun goes to sleep.

· The birdseed’s on the back patio. That’s pretty far away from my car, way over on the other side of the house. Eat up, wild birds, but aim you bird butts away from my car. Seriously. Anything else is just bad manners.

· Meeting someone with the same unhurried sensibility as my own makes for a pleasant afternoon that turns into night really pretty quickly.

· Learning how to tether your phone to your computer makes you feel like you’ve unlocked and conquered a great secret in the universe.

I hate it here when you're gone.

2011-06-08T15:25:00.001-06:00

I miss $100 round trip tickets to Denver. I miss Sunday night flank steak, hot from the grill at my folks’ place. I miss sifting through so many of the good songs and playing them for a whole valley of listeners. I miss walking down snowy sidewalks and saddling up to acoustic shows in a neighborhood bar. I miss Crown Burger. I miss running into people I know unexpectedly. I miss singing with a band. I miss a time when I could date and feel like I knew what I was actually doing. I miss waking up in the mountains. I miss suddenly joining hiking trips and using them as excuses for long, drawn-out, intimate conversations. I miss a well-made, well-flavored taco. I miss those who hugged instead of handshaked. I miss gathering together a gaggle of friends and making them pancakes on a Saturday morning. I miss being understood. I miss owning long weekend vacations. I miss sisters who made babies and were eager to put them in my arms now and again. I miss enjoying an ever-rotating string of new bands and old musicians and the pleasantly supportive, slightly incestuous relationship they had with one another. I miss doing little more than traveling to new countries to talk to people about what they did for a living. I miss a different sort of comfort. I miss the same old, same old.

I like my new couch and how it took me a full week of sitting in it to finally know I’d chosen right. I like that I can walk out on my back patio into the pitch black and be quietly serenaded to by a band of so, so many crickets. I like the feeling of an old wooden floor from the 1950s underneath my bare feet. I like when my days are so impossibly filled up with so much of the blue skies and golden sunshine. I like celebrating a warm thunderstorm. I like that I live in a state with so much weird history tucked deep into its corners, every single weekend can lend itself to a myriad of new discoveries. I like that I get to kick off and spend a weekend with Wilco music and a tent out east, just me and a few thousand new like-minded friends. I like living less than two miles from the best black bean burrito and summer rolls w/ peanut sauce in the state. I like being able to write for my daily bread. I like happening upon old folks in a small town, dancing to live accordion music and allowing me to take a welcomed leap back in time. I like running full speed ahead into a kindred spirit. I like swimming during my lunch hour. I like blazing the unknowable path. I like clambering after this hope for more.

Cover song 'o the day.

2011-06-07T16:06:00.001-06:00

Thank you, Copenhagen! Thank you, Band of Horses! Thank you, thank you, thank you! And, while I'm at it, I'm just glad this is the last thing I heard before I sealed this work day for good ... the collective sound of so many joined voices and instruments making a true thing of beauty. Yes, this is what was needed. This and nothing more.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-05-11T11:21:00.000-06:00

Strand of Oaks' "End in Flames"

2011-05-10T20:46:00.003-06:00

I haven't been able to get away much this year so far, but last weekend heralded in a cherished brief weekend away, running around CO and visiting dear friends, having especially good eats and putting so much of that good music in these ears. In just two days and nights, I saw performances by Mason Jennings, The Head and Heart, Gregory Alan Isakov, Joe Pug and Strand of Oaks. It helped recharge these batteries. At one point, I was in a nearly empty chapel in Colorado Springs, laying on a cool granite floor while Strand of Oaks recorded the tune "End in Flames" for their Fuel/Friends Chapel Sessions, recording it on my wee point-and-shoot and I had to stop a second and just shake my head (which isn't real easy when you're flat out on the floor). I was overwhelmed with a huge sense of gratitude and giddy happiness and I thought to myself, "Self, why don't you live in Colorado?" True story, that. Only problem is, I don't yet have an answer for it. Not yet, anyway. Maybe I will someday.

Fixin' To Die.

2011-05-04T18:17:00.001-06:00

Brothers are good for lots of reasons. But today, one brother of mine earned his stripes all over again when he scooped up the new G. Love, Avett Brothers-influenced album for a fiver on Record Store Day when he was at Slowtrain. Yes, I made the gentle nudge of a suggestion that he do so, but when it showed up in my mailbox, I'm fairly certain my heart grew five times that day. Music has that power, you know. Anyway, here's a taste if you haven't heard it, which was the singular taste that drove me to ~~wanting~~ needing it in the first place.

Stomp-clap, stomp-clap. Stomp-clap, stomp-clap.

Wish you were here.

2011-05-02T13:28:00.001-06:00

On occasion, I give in to the outsider's belief that this is all I do while in Florida. This weekend involved swimming, shell collecting, chasing white crabs on the coast with a flashlight, riding around the island on a golf cart, capturing sunsets and sunrises and, yes, some hammocking. I mean with all the sincerity I can muster that I do look forward to doing this all over again, too. It was serene, gorgeous and welcomed.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-04-27T14:59:00.001-06:00

Old man shoes.

2011-04-26T20:39:00.002-06:00

A couple days back, I was out and about sometime around that noontime hour, having just swallowed a sub whole during my lunch (20 minutes eating, 40 basking in the outdoors daydreaming), when, out of the corner of my eye, I spied some old man at his own table. He was wearing a fairly smart fedora, had suspenders on to keep those slacks up and, for as nicely as he'd gone about dressing himself for this warm afternoon, he'd opted to skip out on the socks. He caught my glance, too, as he was largely doing what I'd been doing: people watching, observing the occasional mating lovebug, delving deep down inside any and all thoughts that might happen on by. We recognized some glimmer of familiarity in the other, even for a slightest part of a second. It was like he dared me to look longer than that and I had to look away. As I walked back to my parked car, he picked up a newspaper and went about giving it his full attention.

For a moment that day, I was that man. And he was kind enough to show me my future.

Today's 'desperate' quote.

2011-04-25T08:08:00.001-06:00

Sometimes all the truth you need to hear resides in a simple tearaway calendar quote. I like this one plenty. More than plenty. Good and plenty? Something.

"The world is in desperate need of  human beings whose own level of growth is sufficient to enable them to  learn to live and work with others cooperatively and lovingly, to care  for others — not for what those others can do for you or for what they  think of you, but rather in terms of what you can do for them." —  Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

We live in a truly beautiful world.

2011-04-20T10:19:00.000-06:00

Do yourselves a favor. Make this as big as you can on your screen, take a few minutes out of your day and just reflect on how beautiful this wide world is. This is too amazing for me to say much more. Other then, well, it's been way too long since I've gone camping.

The Mountain from Terje Sorgjerd on Vimeo.

Any Florida Saturday.

2011-04-18T18:32:00.000-06:00

Love’s in the dusty gospel radio station

in Polk County, it shone on with the sunroof sun.

It’s wrapped up in pulled pork sandwiches sold

at the roadside smoke hut in small amounts,

more so in that morning’s homemade

banana pudding, two vanilla wafers on top.

It’s in stories from a woman 40 years smarter than I

and a dog younger than us both, his head resting on

her shoulder comfortably as a fall cardigan.

It’s even in the bagged radishes, the young squash,

the two-toned corn and so many soft season-end strawberries.

“Can men and women be friends past a certain age?” she asked,

already quite convinced of her answer.

Who am I to know? Who am I to have learned?

I let her believe what’s right, still think her pretty

in all the ways a fragile bird is

lead her down the steps without more words

know we’ll never be more or less than we are.

Wordless Friday.

2011-04-15T09:02:00.000-06:00

Try to sleep.

2011-04-14T15:53:00.000-06:00

Low's great, yes, we all know that ... but, perhaps even more importantly, isn't it nice to see Uncle Jesse still getting work these days? I tend to think so.

Today's quote.

2011-04-09T19:08:00.000-06:00

"Keep your face to the sunshine." — Helen Keller

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

2011-04-03T17:38:00.002-06:00

While I'm very, very happy to be far away from the "surprise" foot of snowfall in the pretty, great state of Utah, receiving a photo care of my stepfather celebrating their first BBQ of the "arson" (sic ... ha, I'm pretty sure he meant season) does make me pine for a Sunday dinner with my family tonight. That happens sometimes.

In the eye of the storm, there is a calm.

2011-03-31T02:00:00.010-06:00

There was a fleeting moment on the usual rush of a commute home that I was able to get distracted by the clouds, they having just rained all over, under and through that Mayberry of a city I work in. It was on the one loop that leads to that long stretch of highway towards my building that I caught it, my first impulse to stop in the street's middle and turn my few seconds of distraction into out-and-out admiration. The clouds overlapped themselves, creating contours and caverns and purples and blues, a wavy ceiling not so high above, a sort of mountain range I didn't have access to. What was once so apocalyptic in scope (trees and branches breaking in the sudden darkness, strong winds the cause of swaying buildings, the report of one woman who was lifted 10 feet into the air before dropping back down again, downed power lines and so much more) had given away to some undeniable beauty. The calm had revealed itself and seemed to ask forgiveness for the power and damage it'd unexpectedly wrought not so many minutes before.

I should have stopped. I know the others wouldn't have.

This is my photograph.

Wordless Wednesday.

2011-03-30T15:16:00.000-06:00

Langhorne Slim Ain't Dead.

2011-03-28T10:31:00.003-06:00

Since there were only about 40-50 of us at this little show last Saturday in Orlando, it's safe for me to assume nobody currently reading this was actually there. This means you missed a couple hours or so of some sweet-sounding, sweaty country-rock-soul (the closest I can come to describing the genre) ... and they did it in a tavern with broken air conditioning, no less. So you didn't get excited as I did when they decided to move it on out to the patio and play an acoustic set with a cool breeze attached (and you missed those who were inexplicably throwing rocks at other attendees). And that final thing you missed? This song, Langhorne Slim's "I Ain't Dead," a tune so new, you can't get your hands on a recorded version of it yet. It renewed my faith in the band's ability and how they might just continue to get bigger, better and more polished as time goes on. I also tend to really, really, really like it. Every time I watch this, I find my smile by the middle ... every single time.

Morning has broken.

2011-03-26T06:33:00.001-06:00

Having a conversation with the sunrise

in Orlando, FL, on my balcony

This is my symphony.

2011-03-24T18:59:00.000-06:00

“To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury,  and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and  wealthy, not, rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with  open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently,  await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden  and unconscious, grow up through the common–this is my symphony." — William Henry Channing

From the archives: Jessica Lea Mayfield.

2011-03-20T19:38:00.001-06:00

I still remember being the happiest deejay volunteer guy with a video camera, two years ago at KRCL 90.9 FM in Salt Lake City (when this took place). Being the only person in the room along with Miss Jessica Lea Mayfield as she casually played a few songs live for the radio-listening audience and myself, well, it was all I needed to be just about the smilingest guy on the planet for those long moments. It'll never happen again but, you know? The fact it happened once? It was enough. More than, even.