Looking at the clock, I am almost exactly 13 hours late in writing a witty, or sensational, or comical, or ________ post reflecting the news that Mr. Barack Obama is the guy that our country has determined will take the reins and steer our country back to greatness. I realize that anything I say now is not exactly 'hot off the presses.'
However, with that imagery in mind, I do have some 'hot' news to report, filled with globs of irony to satisfy your ironic tooth.
While Obamans across the nation celebrated Barack's clinching the presidential race, touting him as the one to bandage our bleeding financial industry, to balance out the distribution of wealth among our citizenry, to impose NCAA football playoffs -- I have discovered yet another industry that can breathe a sigh of relief on this Nov. 5 : Newspapers.
Sure there have been reports and projections that technology and the blogosphere are tag-teaming the demise of the ol' ink and paper daily news, but I'll tell you what.. Today, after visiting 2 gas stations, 3 convenience stores, a hardware store, a neighborhood market, and 3 newspaper dispenser stands, I found myself newspaperless, empty-handed like O.J. in a jail cell.
They were all sold out! Every last Washington Post, New York Times, and Wall Street Journal was gone. One shopkeeper even laughed at me, as if my expecting the availability of a gosh darn newspaper at one in the afternoon was a gosh darn joke. (Side note: all I wanted was the Post's Style section so I could do my daily crossword puzzle. So much to ask for?)
Then it dawned on me. He's done it again! Barack has saved the ailing print newspaper industry. The presses have turned back on. The rollers are a-rollin'. The newsboys are on the corner belting it out for a quart-, well, fifty cen-, actually, seventy-fi-, you know what, let's just make it a dollar. (Yay capitalism, right?) Regardless the cost of the paper, the news being conveyed is priceless. And here I almost bought a Kindle!
So hats off to you, Senator-and-soon-to-be-President Obama. Hopefully your success with resucitating the newspaper will be mirrored and surpassed on other more trivial areas, such as international relations and the R word. Now, as my older and seldom insightful brother would say - "Don't screw up."
Cause if ya do, then that damned institution you just saved will be the first to point the finger. Now ain't that grand....
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Requiem
Five years ago today, a musical visionary by the name of Steve "Elliott" Smith left this world under a veil of mystery, marked by a long history of depression, alcoholism and rampant drug use. On October 21, 2003, in Los Angeles, CA, Smith died as the result of two stab wounds to the chest. To date, there has been no conclusion as to whether the wounds were self-inflicted or not.
Since first hearing the now-hit "Needle in the Hay" from Elliott's self-titled album Elliott Smith (1995) early on in high school, his music has played an influential role in my growth and maturation. I was instantly hooked, and quickly scoured the music collections of my friend's and brother to get my hands on as much of it as I possibly could.
In my experience, Elliott Smith is a perfect example of how music can help to craft a person's perception, whether situationally or in the 'greater picture' view of life. Personally speaking, albums such as the aforementioned Elliott Smith, XO, Either-Or, Roman Candle, and From a Basement on a Hill became the soundtrack to the up and down rollercoaster ride that is high school, two relationship break-ups, homesick nights in college, the deaths of close friends, etc.
Any first-time listener will notice the obvious: his music is sad. But is that such a bad thing? In our times of grief, whether we can notice it or not, one thing we desire above all else is someone who can relate, someone who can comprehend our state of mind, someone who has been there.
Well, Elliott Smith has been around the Sad Block more times that anyone should like to count. Like many poets before him, and like many songwriters today, he wore his emotions on the sleeve of his albums. A bad breakup was transformed into a song. A drug overdose metamorphosized into an album. If anything, his music provided the solace in the form of, "You think you have it bad?.. Well listen to this!"
My mom always questioned my music choices, claiming I tended to gravitate toward the dark and gloomy. I guess it's just comforting to know that you don't need to be head-over-heels in love or driving fancy cars in order to write/perform/sell music. It's comforting to know that heartache happens, and that bumps exist in the road of life. It's comforting to know that others have been there, or are there, and show us that perseverance is indeed possible.
I may not seem quite right. But I'm not fucked, not quite.
-Elliott Smith, "Bled White", XO
Other links:
Paste magazine story on Elliott out today
"Sad Kermit" YouTube video singing "Needle in the Hay"
Elliott Smith Wikipedia entry
Monday, September 22, 2008
Lessons learned
These past 8 days have been quite a roller-coaster ride for me. Starting last Saturday night, I have been head-butted in the face (without provocation by a complete stranger outside a bar in Georgetown); have been mistaken for Ethan Hawk (this is the second time this has happened, remarkably); was involved in a bike-on-longboard accident which resulted in either a bruised nerve in my elbow, or hairline fracture, or both; was involved in a car-on-deer accident which was hands down the scariest ordeal of my life (car pulled a 180-degree spin and crossed 4 lanes of highway, only to stop in the northbound lanes [we were heading south] hard against the guardrail, narrowly keeping us from presumably rolling down a 20-foot hill into a lake); and gashed upon my foot at a time and unplace which remain unknown.
Yeesh, I am almost out of breath just typing all of that.
So yeah, as you can see, I have been a little preoccupied with staying alive and have been unable to spend much thought time in front of my new best friend - my computer.
While all of these lessons seem to suggest a wide-array of meanings and shed many different rays of light on my life at present, one moment in particular has stuck out in my mind. It occurred this past Wednesday early in the afternoon, a little over twelve hours beyond the aforementioned bike accident.
I was at work (which is bartending at a local restaurant), and having a heck of a day as I battled the pain of an arm I was not able to even straighten and the gloomy realization that in my current situation, I was not exactly covered under any health insurance plan. I had been attempting feverishly to contact my mother all morning (Mom knows all, right?), and had no luck at all in doing so.
In my crippled state, I had opted out of taking any tables. However, out of a boredom that grew quicker than our nation's economic plight, I decided to take one or two tables and maybe make an extra ten dollars in tips on an otherwise-profitless day.
The second table I sat was a pair of elderly women, likely in their 60's. I figured this to be an easy wait, assuming two waters or unsweetened iced teas (or one of each), and either a pair of salads or maybe the tuna melt.
I was dead on with the drinks (two waters, with lemon), but turned out to be a glutton for punishment with the food orders. Arguably my most difficult customer to date, she insisted upon an item from our old menu, which, included food items that did not even exist in the kitchen anymore. I did my best to accommodate her substitutions, as she read them from a copy of our take-out menu that was graffitied with her desired ingregients pre-visit. She was, to say the least, hell-bent on receiving the extinct sandwich.
Ultimately, I screwed up one thing (cheddar and mozzerella sound the same, right?) and feared the worst. Following our earlier exchange, noting especially the disappointment and disgust in her tone of voice, I expect nothing short of an impromptu baptism, courtesy of her cup of ice water near the edge of the table. While she was sure to point out my error, she accepted my apology in a seemingly sincere fashion and turned her attention to the bastard sandwich on her plate.
I turned and visited the kitchen, intent on conveying my frustrations to the kitchen staff, all too aware that they would come across no where near as forceful as they should, with my limited arsenal of Spanish-speaking abilities to blame. No one was present, so instead I prepared another makeshift ice pack and saran-wrapped it once again to my ailing elbow. Maybe she will feel sympathy toward my misfortune and tip me a little better than I was likely to get at this point?
Returning to the table, I awaited the final prognosis on the sandwich. Surprisingly, the woman was actually enjoying the sammy (portobella mushrooms, cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomato, roasted red peppers, no mayo, side of feta vinaigrette dressing). In addition, she asked me what the problem was with the elbow.
As it turns out (and these are the cliffnote's here), the woman is a retired longtime worker at the local free clinic. She prompted me to seek hospital attention, and so I was forced to divulge my insurance predicament. In turn, she wrote down a private number to the local free clinic and told me who to ask for, and to use her as a reference. She then explained how the clinic works, what I had to do to apply, where it was, etc.
In a moment, my worst customer ever became the catalyst I needed to respark my faith in the human race. We are not all as selfish, miserable, greedy, vindictive, disgusting and altogether whack as mass media translates us to be. Diamonds in the rough do exist, and, with any luck, will manage to shine bright and redefine the thought to instead read, "Rough spot on a diamond."
So that's my little story for today. Go do something outwardly good today. Maybe someone will blog about it.
Yeesh, I am almost out of breath just typing all of that.
So yeah, as you can see, I have been a little preoccupied with staying alive and have been unable to spend much thought time in front of my new best friend - my computer.
While all of these lessons seem to suggest a wide-array of meanings and shed many different rays of light on my life at present, one moment in particular has stuck out in my mind. It occurred this past Wednesday early in the afternoon, a little over twelve hours beyond the aforementioned bike accident.
I was at work (which is bartending at a local restaurant), and having a heck of a day as I battled the pain of an arm I was not able to even straighten and the gloomy realization that in my current situation, I was not exactly covered under any health insurance plan. I had been attempting feverishly to contact my mother all morning (Mom knows all, right?), and had no luck at all in doing so.
In my crippled state, I had opted out of taking any tables. However, out of a boredom that grew quicker than our nation's economic plight, I decided to take one or two tables and maybe make an extra ten dollars in tips on an otherwise-profitless day.
The second table I sat was a pair of elderly women, likely in their 60's. I figured this to be an easy wait, assuming two waters or unsweetened iced teas (or one of each), and either a pair of salads or maybe the tuna melt.
I was dead on with the drinks (two waters, with lemon), but turned out to be a glutton for punishment with the food orders. Arguably my most difficult customer to date, she insisted upon an item from our old menu, which, included food items that did not even exist in the kitchen anymore. I did my best to accommodate her substitutions, as she read them from a copy of our take-out menu that was graffitied with her desired ingregients pre-visit. She was, to say the least, hell-bent on receiving the extinct sandwich.
Ultimately, I screwed up one thing (cheddar and mozzerella sound the same, right?) and feared the worst. Following our earlier exchange, noting especially the disappointment and disgust in her tone of voice, I expect nothing short of an impromptu baptism, courtesy of her cup of ice water near the edge of the table. While she was sure to point out my error, she accepted my apology in a seemingly sincere fashion and turned her attention to the bastard sandwich on her plate.
I turned and visited the kitchen, intent on conveying my frustrations to the kitchen staff, all too aware that they would come across no where near as forceful as they should, with my limited arsenal of Spanish-speaking abilities to blame. No one was present, so instead I prepared another makeshift ice pack and saran-wrapped it once again to my ailing elbow. Maybe she will feel sympathy toward my misfortune and tip me a little better than I was likely to get at this point?
Returning to the table, I awaited the final prognosis on the sandwich. Surprisingly, the woman was actually enjoying the sammy (portobella mushrooms, cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomato, roasted red peppers, no mayo, side of feta vinaigrette dressing). In addition, she asked me what the problem was with the elbow.
As it turns out (and these are the cliffnote's here), the woman is a retired longtime worker at the local free clinic. She prompted me to seek hospital attention, and so I was forced to divulge my insurance predicament. In turn, she wrote down a private number to the local free clinic and told me who to ask for, and to use her as a reference. She then explained how the clinic works, what I had to do to apply, where it was, etc.
In a moment, my worst customer ever became the catalyst I needed to respark my faith in the human race. We are not all as selfish, miserable, greedy, vindictive, disgusting and altogether whack as mass media translates us to be. Diamonds in the rough do exist, and, with any luck, will manage to shine bright and redefine the thought to instead read, "Rough spot on a diamond."
So that's my little story for today. Go do something outwardly good today. Maybe someone will blog about it.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Hakeem ain't got nothin on this
Writer's block, while not exactly a tangible object in the world, might very well be one of the most annoying and debilitating things. Ever.
It's a truly remarkable circumstance, if you really think about it. (Note: In case it is not obvious, I have had ample time to think about it, as I have been a sufferer of it for some time now.) Whether you are a poet, journalist, novelist, copy-writer for corporate websites, restaurant menu creator, or any kind of 'writer', you are presumably familiar with this little demon and have cursed its name loudly at some point along the way.
What's remarkable, however, is that this 'block' is as much of a proponent for equal-opportunity as the EEOC. As long as your craft requires any amount of thought as a precursor to creation, then you, my friend, are a likely target. Why depress, frighten, anger, and belittle one group when you can take them all down?
It's almost unfair, really. When's the last time you heard of a soccer player who just spontaneously forgot how to run and kick a ball? Or how often do you hear of an accountant who suddenly cannot remember how to use a calculator? It just doesn't appear to happen. (Well, maybe the latter does.)
Why are writer's so susceptible to losing focus, and, ultimately feeling worthless and good for producing nothing better than some chicken-scratch on a piece of paper that is better off benefiting the recycling process more than anything else (that is, assuming that said piece of paper actually makes it to a recycling bin, and is not crumbled up and sent immediately to a trashcan overflowing with presumable other failed attempts, or worse, used for kindling in the fireplace.)
I know 'They' say the pen is mightier than the sword.... But in all honesty, I feel very confident I could make better use with a sword blindfolded and armless than I could with a pen mid-writer's block.
But maybe I'm just a pessimist.
(Final note regarding title of this post: Hakeem Olajuwon is the leading all-time shot blocker in the NBA.)
It's a truly remarkable circumstance, if you really think about it. (Note: In case it is not obvious, I have had ample time to think about it, as I have been a sufferer of it for some time now.) Whether you are a poet, journalist, novelist, copy-writer for corporate websites, restaurant menu creator, or any kind of 'writer', you are presumably familiar with this little demon and have cursed its name loudly at some point along the way.
What's remarkable, however, is that this 'block' is as much of a proponent for equal-opportunity as the EEOC. As long as your craft requires any amount of thought as a precursor to creation, then you, my friend, are a likely target. Why depress, frighten, anger, and belittle one group when you can take them all down?
It's almost unfair, really. When's the last time you heard of a soccer player who just spontaneously forgot how to run and kick a ball? Or how often do you hear of an accountant who suddenly cannot remember how to use a calculator? It just doesn't appear to happen. (Well, maybe the latter does.)
Why are writer's so susceptible to losing focus, and, ultimately feeling worthless and good for producing nothing better than some chicken-scratch on a piece of paper that is better off benefiting the recycling process more than anything else (that is, assuming that said piece of paper actually makes it to a recycling bin, and is not crumbled up and sent immediately to a trashcan overflowing with presumable other failed attempts, or worse, used for kindling in the fireplace.)
I know 'They' say the pen is mightier than the sword.... But in all honesty, I feel very confident I could make better use with a sword blindfolded and armless than I could with a pen mid-writer's block.
But maybe I'm just a pessimist.
(Final note regarding title of this post: Hakeem Olajuwon is the leading all-time shot blocker in the NBA.)
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Picture Time #3
So I have been lazy on writing lately. I apologize (to my friend Scott especially, as I am pretty sure he might be one of the few non-relatives that actually reads this semi-regularly). You see, I have some good ideas, I've just been slow to formulate and blogify them. They're coming, I promise.
Anyway, I figured I could at least throw some more photos up. I spent the afternoon at Great Falls (VA side of it), and snapped some cool/fun/interesting pics. While a few are below, the rest can be seen in this sampling here, hosted on my Facebook account. (Maybe we can be friends?)
Anyway, I figured I could at least throw some more photos up. I spent the afternoon at Great Falls (VA side of it), and snapped some cool/fun/interesting pics. While a few are below, the rest can be seen in this sampling here, hosted on my Facebook account. (Maybe we can be friends?)
Monday, July 28, 2008
Picture Time #2
For Picture Time this week, I want to share some pics I snapped this past weekend down in Cary, NC, at the Avett Brothers show. These guys are, hands down, my favorite artists out today. They are pretty much why I love music.
Anyway, all of this can be a topic for another day. For now, here are a couple of my favorite shots. Enjoy!
Sold out show at the Koka Booth Amphitheater, Cary, NC - 7,000 strong
Scott Avett (left) and Seth Avett (right)
Scott Avett
Seth Avett (bending that B string ferociously)
Bob Crawford - bassist extraordinaire
From Left to Right:Joe Kwan (cello), Bob Crawford (upright bass, vocals), Scott Avett (banjo, vocals, kick drum), Seth Avett (guitar, vocals, hi-hat cymbal)
For more on these guys, check out their Myspace page, or look them up on YouTube. Videos from their live shows truly show the energy that they put in to each and every performance, day in and day out.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Afternoon at the Coffeeshop
So there's this coffeeshop near my house, and I recently learned that they feature live music from time to time. As a slowly-developing musician, I decided to stop by this afternoon, to sort of case the joint out and get a feel for the atmosphere, the people, how Feng Shui the decor was. You know, normal activities for a Friday afternoon.
Having been here now for a good hour (you could say I'm "reporting live"), I have managed to observe a good number of interesting things.
For starters, there's this guy sitting a couple tables behind me, facing my back, also on his laptop. I am 95% sure he has been watching my erratic internet-surfing habits, and is probably watching me write this about him. It's really awkward. (HI!!!!! <-- message for him/you, [you meaning the guy]).
Anyway. So I ordered my standard large iced coffee, with cream only to make two equally unfortunate realizations almost simultaneously. 1) I had only $1 in my pocket (the shots of Jim Beam from last night are likely to blame for this). 2) there is a $5 minimum on credit purchases. My coffee rang in at a whopping $1.99 ($2.14 with tax).
Talk about a pickle. Grudgingly, I supplemented my order with a piece of blueberry coffee cake. As the barista readied the cake square (I regretfully declined the option to have it warmed up), I had my fingers, arms, legs and toes all crossed, hoping my order would now eclipse the $5 mark.
No dice. $4.83. Damn you independent, non-Starbucks coffeeshop and your affordable prices and friendly, neighborhood appeal! Why is your heart so gosh darn apparent? You and your chalkboard menus and Sharpie marker-written display case price tags! And free wireless internet connection?! Corporatize, will you? After all, this is America.
Even though the girl behind the counter insisted that it was "close enough," I felt obliged to add another item to the order to ensure that I reached the posted minimum. As an honest citizen and, more importantly with today's economy, customer, it was my duty to obey the store's rules. And buy more.
So, I threw on a bottle of water as well. Bottled water - now there's a patriotic and economically-responsible item. Is there a better example of brilliance in terms of commercialism? Of the three human survival priorities - food, shelter, water - the latter is without doubt the easiest to commoditize. Why learn how to purify water on our own, when there are companies (Coca-Cola's Dasani, Pepsi's Aquafina, etc.) that are offering to do it for us? Sure, it might cost anywhere from $1.25 (gas station) to $6.50 (professional sporting event), but can you really put a price on convenience? I sure can't. That's what the big corporations are for.
So, finally, I had made it past the store minimum for credit purchases. I could enjoy my random assortment of drinks and food with a clear conscience, knowing that not only did I satisfy my desire for cold coffee (which, mind you, was available at home, leftover from my roommate's morning brew), I also managed to help out our ailing economy when it's needing me most.
And no, your thank you's are not necessary. I know you are thinking it. And, in turn, I am thinking up one big "You're welcome."
Side note: awkward guy who was sitting behind me just left. I think he got agitated by the seeming lack of direction in this post, and, that I stopped writing about him. That selfish bastard.
Having been here now for a good hour (you could say I'm "reporting live"), I have managed to observe a good number of interesting things.
For starters, there's this guy sitting a couple tables behind me, facing my back, also on his laptop. I am 95% sure he has been watching my erratic internet-surfing habits, and is probably watching me write this about him. It's really awkward. (HI!!!!! <-- message for him/you, [you meaning the guy]).
Anyway. So I ordered my standard large iced coffee, with cream only to make two equally unfortunate realizations almost simultaneously. 1) I had only $1 in my pocket (the shots of Jim Beam from last night are likely to blame for this). 2) there is a $5 minimum on credit purchases. My coffee rang in at a whopping $1.99 ($2.14 with tax).
Talk about a pickle. Grudgingly, I supplemented my order with a piece of blueberry coffee cake. As the barista readied the cake square (I regretfully declined the option to have it warmed up), I had my fingers, arms, legs and toes all crossed, hoping my order would now eclipse the $5 mark.
No dice. $4.83. Damn you independent, non-Starbucks coffeeshop and your affordable prices and friendly, neighborhood appeal! Why is your heart so gosh darn apparent? You and your chalkboard menus and Sharpie marker-written display case price tags! And free wireless internet connection?! Corporatize, will you? After all, this is America.
Even though the girl behind the counter insisted that it was "close enough," I felt obliged to add another item to the order to ensure that I reached the posted minimum. As an honest citizen and, more importantly with today's economy, customer, it was my duty to obey the store's rules. And buy more.
So, I threw on a bottle of water as well. Bottled water - now there's a patriotic and economically-responsible item. Is there a better example of brilliance in terms of commercialism? Of the three human survival priorities - food, shelter, water - the latter is without doubt the easiest to commoditize. Why learn how to purify water on our own, when there are companies (Coca-Cola's Dasani, Pepsi's Aquafina, etc.) that are offering to do it for us? Sure, it might cost anywhere from $1.25 (gas station) to $6.50 (professional sporting event), but can you really put a price on convenience? I sure can't. That's what the big corporations are for.
So, finally, I had made it past the store minimum for credit purchases. I could enjoy my random assortment of drinks and food with a clear conscience, knowing that not only did I satisfy my desire for cold coffee (which, mind you, was available at home, leftover from my roommate's morning brew), I also managed to help out our ailing economy when it's needing me most.
And no, your thank you's are not necessary. I know you are thinking it. And, in turn, I am thinking up one big "You're welcome."
Side note: awkward guy who was sitting behind me just left. I think he got agitated by the seeming lack of direction in this post, and, that I stopped writing about him. That selfish bastard.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Lightning
It is late. And I am tired. This became particularly apparent to me moments ago, when I honestly sat and thought for a good 30 seconds what the title of this post should be, and the best I could come up with is this. Lightning.
Now this post-naming process is one that you, as the reader, are not otherwise privy to. Normally, you just read the title and get crackin' on the content. But tonight I thought I might get the ball rolling with that quick anecdote. To break the ice, so to speak.
As the deep and intellectually-stimulating title suggests, I am about to talk about a topic that rates in my top 5 of Most Favorite things in the World. I'm serious here. (the other 4 can be a future post)
Now I know it is well past midnight, and I am - for some reason - still awake. While listening to some music in bed (Fruit Bats are
dominating my iTunes as of late), I heard what I mistakenly, and frighteningly, thought to be a person banging on our front door.
Taking off my headphones, I tiptoed to the front door, and then out back, to learn the rumbling noise to be of a distant and rapidly approaching thunder storm. As mentioned, lightning is one of those things in life that entertain, mystify and just flat out cheer me up to no end.
As I stood on the back deck of my house, facing the westward sky I watched the lightning grow closer and more massive with each strike. It was one of those moments, like in the movie Twister, where the air is eerily calm aside from the cool breeze that is slowly building. The wind is all you can hear in between each roll of thunder. The sky is a black onyx in between each lightning flash.
I was reminded of those summer nights as a young kid when my dad would pull us out of bed and round us up on the screened-in porch at our house in PA to watch lightning storms. I think this tradition is likely where my obsession with them stems from. The smell of the summer rain showers, the tremors that you feel even in your stomach from the passing thunder, the futile efforts to calculate how far away the storm was by counting the time in between lightning and its thunderous shadow.
It was from this same porch that I used to post up, camera in hand, and wait for that perfect National Geographic-esque photo of a ginormous lightning bolt dissecting the midnight sky. Too many times, I was too astounded by the enormity and magnificence of the lightning to remember to click a picture.
What's funny to me now, is how quickly I am reminded of home by such a geographically-neuter occurrence. I'm sure I have witnessed similar storms in a wide variety of locations (instantly, I can think of: Tallahassee, FL; Orlando, FL; Albuquerque, NM; Nashville, TN; Philadelphia, PA; Montego Bay, Jamaica; etc.).
What's even funnier is my childish attraction to it all. Like an infant discovering its foot, I am endlessly enthralled by the concept of visible energy streaking across the sky. I can admit it. The fact I am able to write this right now is a feat in and of itself. I was forced to cut deals with myself to even pull myself away from the porch, bargaining that "after the next one I'll go in...." That turns into "after the next one", and then the next one, etc.
Luckily, Mother Nature took care of me and played the trump card: rain. So now it's off to bed for this guy.
Goodnight yall.
Now this post-naming process is one that you, as the reader, are not otherwise privy to. Normally, you just read the title and get crackin' on the content. But tonight I thought I might get the ball rolling with that quick anecdote. To break the ice, so to speak.
As the deep and intellectually-stimulating title suggests, I am about to talk about a topic that rates in my top 5 of Most Favorite things in the World. I'm serious here. (the other 4 can be a future post)
Now I know it is well past midnight, and I am - for some reason - still awake. While listening to some music in bed (Fruit Bats are
dominating my iTunes as of late), I heard what I mistakenly, and frighteningly, thought to be a person banging on our front door.Taking off my headphones, I tiptoed to the front door, and then out back, to learn the rumbling noise to be of a distant and rapidly approaching thunder storm. As mentioned, lightning is one of those things in life that entertain, mystify and just flat out cheer me up to no end.
As I stood on the back deck of my house, facing the westward sky I watched the lightning grow closer and more massive with each strike. It was one of those moments, like in the movie Twister, where the air is eerily calm aside from the cool breeze that is slowly building. The wind is all you can hear in between each roll of thunder. The sky is a black onyx in between each lightning flash.
I was reminded of those summer nights as a young kid when my dad would pull us out of bed and round us up on the screened-in porch at our house in PA to watch lightning storms. I think this tradition is likely where my obsession with them stems from. The smell of the summer rain showers, the tremors that you feel even in your stomach from the passing thunder, the futile efforts to calculate how far away the storm was by counting the time in between lightning and its thunderous shadow.
It was from this same porch that I used to post up, camera in hand, and wait for that perfect National Geographic-esque photo of a ginormous lightning bolt dissecting the midnight sky. Too many times, I was too astounded by the enormity and magnificence of the lightning to remember to click a picture.What's funny to me now, is how quickly I am reminded of home by such a geographically-neuter occurrence. I'm sure I have witnessed similar storms in a wide variety of locations (instantly, I can think of: Tallahassee, FL; Orlando, FL; Albuquerque, NM; Nashville, TN; Philadelphia, PA; Montego Bay, Jamaica; etc.).
What's even funnier is my childish attraction to it all. Like an infant discovering its foot, I am endlessly enthralled by the concept of visible energy streaking across the sky. I can admit it. The fact I am able to write this right now is a feat in and of itself. I was forced to cut deals with myself to even pull myself away from the porch, bargaining that "after the next one I'll go in...." That turns into "after the next one", and then the next one, etc.
Luckily, Mother Nature took care of me and played the trump card: rain. So now it's off to bed for this guy.
Goodnight yall.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Picture Time
Very recently, I have found myself with a good deal of extra time on my hands. Without getting into the particulars, I am endeavoring to invest this free time into some constructive hobbies. For instance, I have been spending more time writing music, writing on this here weblog, maybe do a little reading, and finally getting back into the photography thing as well.
And so, ideally once or twice a week, I am going to combine two of those activities in the above list and post some recent photos on here. If there is a story behind any of them, I will put it out there as well.
So, for the inaugural photo-post.... (drumroll)
(Yankee Candle top turned into an ash tray on our back deck)
(my guitar on my wall)
(incense burning)
And so, ideally once or twice a week, I am going to combine two of those activities in the above list and post some recent photos on here. If there is a story behind any of them, I will put it out there as well.
So, for the inaugural photo-post.... (drumroll)
(Yankee Candle top turned into an ash tray on our back deck)
(my guitar on my wall)
(incense burning)That's all for today. I'll have some more up later this week.
Friday, July 18, 2008
The Pluot
While at the friendly neighborhood Giant grocery store yesterday with some friends, we happened upon one particularly friendly and outgoing employee whilst gallivanting around in the produce section. As my friend and I discussed the age-old peaches-versus-nectarines argument (I've been on a huge nectarine kick as of late), this employee interrupted asking if we had ever laid taste upon the pluot, admittedly his favorite fruit.
The pluot? Was this some sort of joke?
Yes, the pluot. And no, no joke. In the spirit of unnatural fruit collaborations and alterations (a la Oceanspray's cherry-flavored craisins, or those genetically-altered giant tomatoes, or, even, the mythical and yet-to-be-seen bananaberry), the pluot is the offspring of a plum and an apricot. In fact, the name "pluot" is even a registered trademark of Zaiger Genetics.
What's interesting is that the plum-apricot marriage goes by many names. For example:
- 75% plum / 25% apricot = Pluot
- 50% plum / 50% apricot = Plumcot
- 25% plum / 75% apricot = Aprium
In fact, some pluots are reported to resemble dinosaur eggs (go figure, right?), and so in many circles they are referred to as such.
I'll admit, I was a bit skeptical of this whole pluot business... While I've never been a huge fan of either apricots or plums, when the friendly Giant employee offered me one of these suckers to try out, I couldn't help but take a bite. And then another. And then another.
These babies were delicious. The texture of a nectarine with the inside coloring of a ruby-red grapefruit. Not too sweet, and not sour at all. I was convinced. The only way the situation could have improved would have been if the guy gave me a free sample of some napkins. I had pluot juice running all down my hands and chin. Yummmm.
So there you have it. Just when we thought that nature had given us all we needed in terms of fruits and vegetables, some guy named Floyd Zaiger (dubbed the "Albert Einstein of Stonefruit") came along and taught us that Mother Nature just wasn't good enough.
So hats off to you, Floyd. And work on that bananberry. Please.
The pluot? Was this some sort of joke?
Yes, the pluot. And no, no joke. In the spirit of unnatural fruit collaborations and alterations (a la Oceanspray's cherry-flavored craisins, or those genetically-altered giant tomatoes, or, even, the mythical and yet-to-be-seen bananaberry), the pluot is the offspring of a plum and an apricot. In fact, the name "pluot" is even a registered trademark of Zaiger Genetics.
What's interesting is that the plum-apricot marriage goes by many names. For example:
- 75% plum / 25% apricot = Pluot
- 50% plum / 50% apricot = Plumcot
- 25% plum / 75% apricot = Aprium
In fact, some pluots are reported to resemble dinosaur eggs (go figure, right?), and so in many circles they are referred to as such.
I'll admit, I was a bit skeptical of this whole pluot business... While I've never been a huge fan of either apricots or plums, when the friendly Giant employee offered me one of these suckers to try out, I couldn't help but take a bite. And then another. And then another.
These babies were delicious. The texture of a nectarine with the inside coloring of a ruby-red grapefruit. Not too sweet, and not sour at all. I was convinced. The only way the situation could have improved would have been if the guy gave me a free sample of some napkins. I had pluot juice running all down my hands and chin. Yummmm.
So there you have it. Just when we thought that nature had given us all we needed in terms of fruits and vegetables, some guy named Floyd Zaiger (dubbed the "Albert Einstein of Stonefruit") came along and taught us that Mother Nature just wasn't good enough.
So hats off to you, Floyd. And work on that bananberry. Please.
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