"When people are fairly young and the musical composition of their lives is still in its opening bars, they can go about writing it together and exchanging motifs...but if they meet when they are older...their musical compositions are more or less complete, and every motif, every object, every word means something different to each of them." -Milan Kundera
June 16. Song of the Day. The Living and the Dead: Dave Dondero.
"Got a scrambled heart, it's a little over cooked
Got a novel full of wishes missing from your book
There's no insurance in this life
No protection from the night
Too many rules and no direction
You walk under a knife
It's just this temporality, creating fleeting moments
If your lacking in permanent
You better make your moment potent..."
Today, this one feels perfect today. All this temporality, make all those moments potent, folks.
Last night was certainly one for the record books. We started with dinner and drinks at Silo with Ian, Ashley, and Michelle. Then, we ran into Robbie and Alan. And, luckily we were able to convince Allison to come back out to join us. We closed out Silo, before heading to the Queer Dance Party over on the East side. There was loads of dancing, karaoke, and laughter. And it became abundantly clear to me that if I was ever to do karaoke, it would have to be this song, and only this song. I'll never forget dancing my butt off surrounded by this fantastic group of people on a random night in June.
This one has been stuck in my head since last night when it played on the jukebox at The Villager. And now, it will forever remind me of that wild and crazy night with Ashley, Allison, and Ian.
This song reminds me of you, when both of us were less steady and the pull of gravity was so strong we fell to the ground often. While it may sound romantic in retrospect, it wasn't. In fact, it was tragic. And luckily, we both made it through those times to find something much more fulfilling.
A life full of stability and thoughtful choices and purpose. That is romantic to me.
"In a nightmare, I am falling from the ceiling into bed beside you.
You're asleep, I'm screaming, shoving you to try to wake you up.
And like before, you've got no interest in the life you live when you're awake.
Your dreams still follow story lines, like fictions you would make.
So I lie down against your back, until we're both back in the hospital.
But now it's not a cancer ward, we're sleeping in the morgue.
Men and women in blue and white, they are singing all around you,
with heavy shovels holding earth.
You're being buried to you neck.
In that hospital bed, being buried quite alive now.
I'm trying to dig you out but all you want is to be buried there together.
You're screaming,
and cursing,
and angry,
and hurting me,
and then smiling,
and crying,
apologizing."
And if you are interested, you can The Antlers newest release on NPR's First Listen.
The past couple of weeks, I've been fighting off some type of illness. So, yesterday, when I realized I'm getting dangerously close to having a throat so swollen I won't be able to eat, I made an appointment to see my doctor at Student Health. No, I won't stand for not being able to eat.
On my way out of the office, Dr. Hanson, my doctor, realized this was likely (and hopeful, in the case of this illness) the last time we would see each other. She wished me luck in Flagstaff. She told me to stay in touch. And then, she opened her arms and gave me a hug.
I guess not everyone has this type of relationship with their doctor, particularly at a clinic on campus. But Dr. Hanson and I go way back. She was the first doctor I saw at Student Health. I remember walking in there in substantial pain from what later was dubbed, Carl the Carbuncle. He was a somewhat stubborn clogged boil or something of the sort located in my armpit. Yeah, sexy, right? In my mind, he was humongous. But Dr. Hanson, calmly, eased me through the bludgeoning of Carl. She was kind and gentle and firm. I had to go back daily for almost two weeks to change out the bandages and so we got to know each other quite well.
She also helped me through the whole "heart skipping a beat" debacle and "sensitive nose" situation. She never judged me for coming in once every six months for a round of HIV/STD testing, but rather praised me for being a conscientious patient. And, thankfully, she always kept an eye on my mental well-being as related to my physical health. When she noticed I lost 30 pounds in the summer of 2011, she asked me about it. We went through a series of blood tests to find out if I had any related problems, like with my thyroid. When I rebounded those 30 lbs and then some, I shyly made a little joke about it, she said, "Well, that was a really rough summer for you, wasn't it? It is good you are back at your normal weight."
Cheers to Dr. Hanson, who will likely never read this, but yet, I felt the need to pay tribute to her...particularly given that hug today. I'm grateful.
I knew from the first moment I saw a trailer for the film Her that I would absolutely adore it. As suspected, I fell in love with the film. I watched it several times. And now, I'm anxiously awaiting my copy on DVD, so I can watch it over and over again.
One of the reasons I love the film so is because the relationship that develops between Theodore and Samantha reminds me of a long distance relationship. More so, the ways in which technology plays a role in relationship complicated by distance. When trying to maintain intimacy with a partner across the distance, the phone and computer take on a different relevance in your day-to-day life as you exchange hundreds of texts through out the day, schedule time to video chat, and email back and forth. While you know there is another person on the other side of the line, you spend more time in an intimate relationship with your telephone and computer than anyone else. And that is the part that really resonated with me about the relationship in the film.
There are dozens of reasons I love this film including the familiarity of the character of Theodore, who reminds me of one of my long distance partners, and the fragility of human emotion, which reminds all of us how we should seek out as much joy as possible in the time we are here.
And for what it is worth, every single time I hear this song from the film, all those emotions and memories come flooding to the surface.
June 8. Song of the Day. If You Don't Know Me By Now: Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes.
My grandmama has been on my mind lately. More so than usual. Its likely because this is around the time of the year we lost her. It has been two years ago and I miss her all the time.
This morning, I was walking home from the grocery store. Someone was blaring this song out of their car windows. It was one of her favorite songs.
And suddenly, it was like my grandmama was right there with me, holding my hand.
June 7. Song of the Day. Compartir: Carla Morrison
Quiero compartir mi silla... contigo, Quiero ver salir el sol... y desperdirlo, Quiero caminar y correr... a tu ladito, Quiero buscar y encontrarme a solas contigo
Quiero dormir y soñar, caricias contigo, Quiero reir y llorar, con tus ojitos, Quiero compartir mis secretos y mis suspiros, Quiero aprender a entender al mundo contigo
Pero hay una cosa que te debo decir, No es nada fácil, estar tan lejos de tÃ!
This was playing yesterday at the salon while I was getting my haircut. It reminded me of how much I heart Kate Nash. And the lyrics are pretty poignant for a lady like me who likes to watch sunsets on my own.
Day 03. Song of the Day. Geography: Thao and the Get Down Stay Down. June 03, 2014.
"Oh, geography is gonna make a mess of me, Oh, geography is gonna make a mess of me. My my mouth, a confessional cannon, Run away from me with the most reckless of abandon..."
A couple of years ago, one of my closest friends, Art, and I were waltzing around downtown on our way home from the schoolhouse looking for somewhere to have cheap drinks and conversation. See, we were both downtown because neither one of us had a car at the time and the central bus station is located downtown. So, it made for a rather convenient place for the both of us to spend time together before departing to our respective homes.
For those of you familiar with downtown Nashville, you know at first glance, there appear to be very few places to grab a cheap drink that isn't overflowing with tourists. As we walked about, we came across a bar called Cowboy Kewl. We laughed about the spelling, then jokingly walked into their doors. As soon as we stepped inside, we knew we had found our place. It was perfect. There was a stench of stale beer and cigarettes. Or, in other words, it was perfect. To add fuel to the fire, there was a jukebox with surprisingly a great selection.
During the spring and summer of 2012, Art and I spent many afternoons and evenings at the Kewl, as we came to call it. We came to know JD, the bartender at the time, and the owner, Tim. So many afternoons, we'd pour into their door, belly up to the bar, and drink cheap beer until the last buses left from downtown. In some ways, JD and Tim helped me while I struggled through the passing of my grandmother, as they always asked for updates and hugged me when I would break down into tears.
When we were lucky, we would convince some of our other friends to join us. I'm not quite sure everyone else loved the Kewl as much as Art and I did. And so, when Michelle or Andrea would join me, I'd often try to find something on the jukebox that I know they'd like. Hence, Miranda Lambert's song Kerosene.
My relationship with country music has been complex. I had always been familiar with old country. You know, the kind that it is technically okay to like. Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline. But I had never really listened to much contemporary country. However, during my time in Nashville, I had the chance to hear some contemporary country, particularly from my friends. I suppose there was a night when I was talking about a boyfriend who had done me wrong and someone said, "Oh, you must hear this song by Miranda Lambert." And you know what, I actually liked it. Shhhh.
Yesterday, I heard that Miranda Lambert had a new album out. Michelle mentioned she was purchasing it. And without irony or stating that it was a guilty pleasure, I asked her to burn me a copy. Because in many ways, Miranda Lambert will remind me of certain spaces during my time in Nashville. It will always remind me of some of my closest girlfriends here. It will always remind me of that jukebox and the stale smells inside the Cowboy Kewl. And quite frankly, it will always make me want to kick ass.
Day 1. Song of the Day. The Sounds of a Baseball Game.
Every year when April rolls around, Michelle and I gleefully head out to the opening game for the Nashville Sounds. Last year, we made it to about 20 games for the season. This year, we've already been to 10 games. I suppose, we might be preparing for my eventual departure from a town where minor league baseball is played.
At each game, I sit back and take in the scenery. I've likely said it before on this blog, but to me, my love of baseball has always been about the aesthetics-- the sights, sounds, and smells. Well, not always the smells, last Thirsty Thursday, we abstained from drinking and the smells were not all that great.
While I'll always miss the sights and smells, I realize what I'll miss the most are the sounds. The sounds of a ballpark are like a fingerprint, specific to that one place. No other place in the world will ever sound like those few years of countless days and evenings watching our boys play. And in some ways, these sounds will cease to exist as the acoustics inevitably change next year with a new stadium.
And so here's to the people who make the sounds of the game so very memorable to me. Cheers to Charles (the cold beeeyah guy), the angry funnel cake lady, Silent Bob's unenthusiastic pleas to sell you peanuts, and all the vendors whose voices fill the space of those memories. Cheers to the announcers and Doogie. Cheers to the fans. Cheers to those mysterious woo-girls. Cheers to the umpires. Cheers to the Nashville Sounds and all the visiting teams. It is this cacophony of noises that I will miss dearly. It is the end of an era, for sure.
For an article in the New York Times about the sounds of a baseball game, A Summer Symphony.
Music is Memory is a project that seeks to understand connections between music and memory. Primarily, I am interested in collecting the memories (and emotions) that we, as individuals, have attached to particular songs. I "collect" memories of hearing a song for the first time, but also how these memories change and meld over time.
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