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.

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.

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.

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)

That's all for today. I'll have some more up later this week.

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.

Adult Swim

No, not the Cartoon Network's finest line of programming (for those of us over the age of 7). I'm talking about the real deal, the original, the defining moment of adulthood - the public pool's lifeguard-sanctioned Adult Swim.

I realize this is quite the random topic to address. So what? Today, while visiting my sister and her two little ones, we embarked on an afternoon at the swimming pool in her neighborhood development. Along with my mom, who was also visiting from PA, the five of us strolled into the gated oasis with as the hot hot heat pouring down on us.

In between the screams and shouting of what appeared to be an endless number of toddlers, I heard the faint shrill of the lifeguard's whistle, followed by the two words that for a long time in my life brought chills to my insides, and tears to my eyes...

Adult Swim.

This was quite the moment. For the past 4 or 5 years, I have been lucky enough to enjoy the luxuries of private pools at friends' houses, or even the coveted guess past at the local country clubs. For these reasons, I imagine, I have been quite detached from the emotional distress caused by the party-pooping meanness of those lifeguards who - I assumed at the time - had the sole purpose of raining on the parade of every small child splish-splashing around in the pool, making us exit and sit alongside the deck with our feet in the water for 15, sometimes 20, minutes at a time. All so a bunch of old people could swim laps or stand waist- or chest-high and talk about things that they were most likely talking about just moments before in the comfort of their lawn chairs.

Didn't they know how much fun we were having? Of course they did, and that is why they were, as mentioned, a bunch of cold-hearted meanies. The lifeguards, that is.

Well that all changed today. With that whistle, I was instantly liberated from a pool filled with ball-wielding, diving ring-retrieving, foam noodle floating, Energizer-battery-using kids, as I found myself embracing the serenity of the overly-chlorinated pool water as it shimmered under the hot sun. It was glorious.

Instantly, it all made sense. The years of anguish and hatred for those red bathing-suit donning Baywatch-wannabe-lifeguards was immediately transformed into loving acceptance, and, commendation for their having the presence of mind to keep it real for us older crowd.

Yes, I am only 23. But dammit, I am an adult.