Thursday, June 26, 2008

LCD Soundsystem

I don't think that I'm bipolar. I think I'm more like bicontinental, you know, like a Seattle to Santiago. Moods are so sensitive. One bad look and I'm on a plane to the depressed Northwest, or so it seems. That's where the LCD comes in.

Months ago, Justin and I were in his Civic. He's got some big six by nines in there so everything coming across is in charge and so it was with Daft Punk is Playing at My House. I hadn't heard something so fresh in a while. So secure in what it was. I stole the files from Kyle and boarded the plane, fastened my seat belt and put my chair in the upright position.

So often I think that we see change like we see stains on shirts. We know just when it happened because we watched the whole thing. That blasted spaghetti noodle fell off of its prong right on to our shirt as we delicately attempted to put the whole thing in our mouths so that we wouldn't have to slurp in front of her parents. Forgive my run on. The whole event right before our eyes, watched as our shirt became something we didn't buy, something now totally nonreturnable. But then there are the more subtle changes, the changes that are more like the spaghetti stains that you got from cooking the sauce. The ones you don't see until you go to put the shirt back on and you ask, "Little devil, how did you get on there?" Those kinds of changes. They make as much of a difference but you didn't see the change happen, you only see the effect. The stain was right next to your collar. Life is packed with them. Looking in the mirror I see the night of Daft Punk is Playing at My House as a stain on my collar, a sneaky change. The night I got a free flights from Seattle to Santiago, all with the bottom of that blissful Ipod circle. But I didn't see it until I realized that I had been in Seattle and somehow got to Santiago. LCD is mood changing, which in turn, is life changing.

"And all the furniture is in the garage-ah."

Monday, June 16, 2008

A Forty Car Train

With the advent of video recording, people have the ability to watch events more than once. A boring way to start a Monday morning post, but as you've read for the last month or so, you're just going to have to trust the fact that when I guide you down the garden path we will end up somewhere comfortable. I wonder if this weekend was recorded by someone, cause I would like to watch it again. I swear my life is like a forty car train that ran head on with a mountain and it takes ten minutes for it to stop. I'm sitting at my desk, in my wonderful cubicle, its 9:42 am, and the cars still feel like they're piling up.

I guess the metaphor of a train wreck feels like it fits because of the way my mind works. I seem to be set on a course, Seattle to Boston, but then, as though the heavens had planned it, I'm suddenly being rerouted for repairs down to San Antonio, never to see Boston. Friday night was the crash, Saturday after noon the reroute, Sunday night the repairs, and I'm back on the tracks, hesitant. Happy to be moving again, but hesitant because I was lucky to survive the crash. Wondering what the Boston skyline looks like from the station, sad I won't see it with these eyes, but excited to know what's going to happen once I get this old engine opened up.

Metaphors on metaphors. This weekend was amazing. Here's the rosetta stone to the train. Friday night we split ways, Saturday afternoon we were the same place at the same time, Sunday night, well, that's not for blogging eyes. Hahaha, ba na now.

Friday, June 13, 2008


Dude, I can't believe how much I seem to leave out of reach. Take for instance my own personal happiness. I seem to leave it in the way of thieves, banks, television shows and heart breakers, and just a little too far from myself that, in case of an emergency, I can't get to it until after the damage is done. How backward. Okay, I confess, it is the loss of my ipod that has sent me into such a tailspin. The other day I was listening to Justin Timberlake, I like him, he's got some good beats, and I was listening to the song, "What goes around." I thought, "Its weird that he has taken such a serious topic and made it into such a rad tune." Dude, then low and behold I'm watching Jay Leno last night and they had that little girl from Definitely Maybe on there and she was complaining about her ipod being stolen. "Ha," I thought, "you shouldn't have put all your happiness into a piece of metal, you should have been more like me." Went to the car this morning and realized I had left all my happiness in a piece of metal, and now that little piece of metal is gone, and my happiness didn't get out before it was too late. Bah. I called around, ipods are expensive man, plus all the music, plus the footwork to get it back. I really need to just get my happiness back, but I figure having the ipod will at least give me some music to listen to while I figure out how to do that. "What goes around, goes around, goes around, comes all the way back around." Should have thought happy thoughts about that little girl.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Seasonal Affective Disorder

Stupid grey skies. There are a ton of reasons I hate grey skies, the strangest I think is that fact that there are no shadows. Its weird I know, but it just gets to me. Maybe its the round about way that a shadow can make you happy.

Take for instance the circumstances which have to occur for a shadow to be cast. Sunlight is crucial, I guess there are alternatives, but lets be real here. Being outside is definately something that will enhance the experience, and last but not least, it's Cartesian evidence of existance. Without a shadow, being chained to the wall of a cave and being outside by the beach have just about the same feeling. I think the oddness comes from that premise. Without shadow we exist just a little less, like vampires and their reflections. Something about being able to at least stand in the way of a little light. Its a confidence boost.

Take away the sun, take away identity. Blame it on the weather.

Monday, June 2, 2008

A Beautiful Dichotomy

So, McKenna took the bus up and I drove her back. It was a good moment, paradigm. We started talking about...well, I guess just about everything. Something about marathons, then something about how you can't know that you can do something until its done, then something about Machu Pichu, then the inspiration for this post, "The Mayans did incredible things because they didn't know what they couldn't do." Changed. I consider myself changed. I'd never heard it like that before. I think the right pieces were all there I just needed to see it from a different angle before it became clear.

It seems most days I rely on the fact that I only know what I can't do. I can't be late, I can't listen to music too loud, I can't eat junk food, I can't lie, I can't, I can't... I'm a believer in rules, I'm aware of plenty of things I can do, that's not the focus. The focus of the "can't" list is really the difficulty in differentiating between which "can'ts" are actually "cans". What I would be able to do with my days if those tricky "can'ts" weren't there. The can'ts seem like walls in my mind that increase in height and width everday. I guess that's why her statement felt like such a cut against the grain, because I had never really considered life without the walls of the can't. Without the walls that tell me no. I almost find comfort in the knowing I can't ever be where I think I can't be, so I just become content with being trapped in my doubt. University Parkway just north of the Texaco was the frist time I had considered the possibility of not having the walls and where I could be without them. Maybe building temples on the tops of mountains built of rocks a thousand times my weight.

It was the first time I had actually believed that that was a maybe. Thanks McKenna, you are something.