Nostalgia

Nobody really knows just what Nostalgia is

Some say it grows, some say it festers

Some say it just is

Lying in the middle of the night entombed in sleep

No stronger arms will pull you, than Nostalgia’s,

To the deep

Catatonic lullabies and lustful memories

Child’s dreams and parent’s screams

Are to Nostalgia bound

Did you hear what Charlie did?

Have you seen him since?

Perhaps Nostalgia will not find him,

Or his service bid.

Sarah was a beauty queen

But crowns can weigh so much

On her way to claim the throne

She fell down at His touch.

Nostalgia finds, Nostalgia grows

Within hearts and without

But what Nostalgia binds to us

Is by our fears brought out

Show me the beauty of my call

Show me what past days hide

Nostalgia’s feints are growing thin

But am I left inside?

Melancholy musings lying thick upon my floor

Four-chambered heart beats endlessly

Outside my screen door

No starling can assume this throne

Nor can I abdicate

For only by Nostalgia’s hand

Can Love become the Great

Remember now, the times we had

Do not forget years gone

For if you do not know your night

You’ll never find the dawn.

Hear, buds

Seriously?

After having received Apple’s most basic ipod ever made for Christmas, I immediately proceeded to do two things:

1.  Prepare the most embarrassing playlist known to man.

2.  Get my headphones ready for use.

The first is because, thanks to the greatest innovation the Jobster never made, no one but you or someone you entrust your listening device to (that’s somwhere between 2nd and 3rd base in my book) can tell what music is on your ipod.  Thus, I can stock it full of horrifically nostalgic stuff (ELO, Kenny Loggins, Geoff Moore, Iona…) without fear of immediate reprisal.  If someone starts to get suspicious of my foot-tapping in Starbucks as I read some presidential biography, I can simply unplug my ‘buds and plead the 5th.  Especially if they look like they have money.

The second, which is the main reason I wanted to talk about this, is because the little rubber/plastic dongles mysteriously labeled ‘headphones’ are about as much fun to use as someone else’s retainer.  Even knowing this, I still decided to try them out the other day while on a walk, simply to test their merit.  After all, I have no need to sweat profusely into my good ones (read: headphones) all the time, so perhaps a backup pair wouldn’t be so bad to have, right? Right?

Totally, utterly and completely wrong.

The first thing I noticed about the Dongle Twins (as we’ll call them) is that they immediately seek to escape from your ear canal at any opportunity.  Turning your head to check traffic?  Oops, out they go.  Bobbing your head to the incredible synthesizer beats of “Here’s the News” at any time in any weather?  Ha.  Breathing too easily?  Swallowing ever?  Holding your breath? Blinking?  Gone.  It’s as if they traumatize each pair by beating them senseless with some earwax-covered mallet so as to infuse a mortal fear of anything Otolaryngologist-related.

The next thing I noticed was how much pain they begin to inflict upon the ear in so short a time.  I used to think a too-tight batting helmet was the best way to extract revenge upon the ol’ sounders, but now I realize that Steve Jobs has been selling the most masochistically-inclined piece of ear-wear on the planet for more than my first car sold for in 2007.

If there’s a good thing to be said about the DTs, perhaps it has to do with the almost-legendary length of their cord.  Specifically, their lack of such.  I guess they included a clip in the final product because the designers all realized that nobody with a torso containing five ribs or more is going to be able to keep the player in their pocket and the earphones in their ears simultaneously.  I even compromised and tried to clip it on to the top of my waistband, but as soon as I tilted my head up slightly, all semblance of slack disappeared without a trace.  Charlie Crews is looking into it.

See, I really don’t hate Apple that much.  They’re an American company, and their CEO might not have completely Jobbed his partner out of the business.   It’s just the little things they do that constantly prevent me from entrusting anything more than a small portion of my playlist to them at a time.  If you own an iphone, have you ever been thrilled about the deep-set 2.5mm jack that prevent you from using virtually any sort of output without buying their adapter?  Honestly, for a company that makes some of the best computers and MP3 players on the planet, you’d think they could actually try to design earphones that were at least usable for some period of time.  Every other company in the kingdom gets it, Apple.  You include some cheap replica of good earphones with the player that will at least work for a short period of time before breaking, leaving the consumer no choice but to purchase a higher-end set later on.  Apple, however, has somehow managed to seduce millions of people (many of them willing to pay exorbitant price for their computers) into sticking with these headphones even when Apple themselves sell better ones.  Somehow, Apple has reached the business Nirvana of convincing consumers that ownership of their goods creates such total happiness that even the most reasonable and minimal efforts to upgrade from admittedly-terrible hardware are forsaken.  Is it a status thing, or is it just apathy?

Personally, I suspect that the average ipod owner just listens to such terrible music in the first place that the agony of this earphone-wearing experience simply pales in comparison to the everyday rigors of enduring their ABBA/Gwen Stefani playlists on repeat.  Crank it, honey.  Crank it good.

Gracie

Let’s unload the boxes of mountainous problems

Don’t strain your back on the carton of photographs,

Keep your spine in line though you’re burdened with luggage

It’s imperative that you keep your spine

In line.

Let’s open our eyes and walk out the door

The bars are all closed but the night is wide open,

Don’t stare too long at the powdery sky

It’ll be gone before long, but we won’t,

Both of our spines are aligned.

The eyes are the same but the screens are all gone

I’m staring the sun in the face by the moonlight

Powder or no, I insist that you move

Sunlight is savage on Saturday nights

But it’s fine.

Whether or not we’re still here after always

My retinas will always remember their scars

Two heavenly bodies entombed in the asphalt

Whoever knew us knew fire severe,

Not this time.

I gave Jamie her notice and she noticed me

I calmly retreated into ecstasy

Until frigid fingers ripped hot on my spine

Ten times I was told of that sinful rejoicing,

But I rejoice for mine.

Fog Monsters

I managed to watch the second half of the first LOST episode of the season last night.  While this may seem a little out of character for one who has seen only two previous episodes (both season finales), don’t worry — I was mainly there for moral support.  If you missed it, however, let me see if I can sum it up for you…

–

So the people are on an island, except GUESS WHAT?  They’re not, anymore.  The bog monster has transported some of them home, except not a lot of them.  Some of them are still on the island, but it is moving around in time and space.  No, not that space.  Just spatially.  So the fat guy is hungry, so he decides to follow the tanned guy around, except that guy starts killing people because he’s a cannibal and the fat guy isn’t sure how he feels about it so he goes home after the anti-cannibals poison his swarthy companion.  His parents, who are extremely annoying people (though not as fat as he is), sort of help him by dumping off the poisoned guy’s body to Deep Throat in a parking garage.  Meanwhile, fire is raining down upon more annoying people on the island, and dead people are still alive because it’s back in time or something weird.  Thankfully, the more attractive people survive their run-in with neo-Nazis, and Mr. Clean saves them just in time.  Back home, the creepy ferret-looking guy tries to trick fat man into giving up cannibalism, but by then fat guy is too hungry and he runs away to prison where he’s heard you can get free human flesh at the buffet (as everyone knows).  Then, the nun decides to switch religions from nunnery to ferretism, except the ferret guy is mad because he’s not sure what to believe any more.  The episode ends with the attractive people battling demons, and the ugly people struggling with what’s right.

Remind me how is this not Gilligan’s Island, again?

Iona

Sunset skyline out my window
Stained carpet underfoot
Ain’t that the way that it goes
We live in the bad and long for the good

Down here the well has been poisoned
Now everything’s dying
Some sell forgiveness on gospel tv shows
And I wonder why anyone’s buying
Cause the truth is a hard sell
For it burns out the lies

And I tear hard this brittle bone
And I drink deep this wine
I live rich on the meat of this table
Cause it’s here where I can find
The grace of a saviour
The face of a lover
The abscence of what I fear
I’m not alone, for here I’ve found my home

I’ve been hiding like an ostrich
My head underground
And all my dirty feathers all across town
Lucky vampire has no mirrors
Me, I’m scared of what I’d see
I long for a last time with last times
Isn’t that why You died for me?
I bow my head weeping
I pray I’ll raise it to find You

And I tear hard this brittle bone
And I drink deep this wine
I live rich on the meat of this table
Cause it’s here where I can find
The grace of a saviour
The face of a lover
The abscence of what I fear
I’m not alone, for here I’ve found my home

Cause I can think too much
I can think you away
Now that I’ve crashed hard
Can I see how you save?
There’s a small cloud in the distance
So I’ll keep on walking
Til Your grace sings so loud
I can’t hear myself talking

And I tear hard this brittle bone
And I drink deep this wine
I live rich on the meat of this table
Cause it’s here where I can find
The grace of a saviour
The face of a lover
The abscence of what I fear
I’m not alone, for here I’ve found my home

“Brittle Bone”

-The Normals

Five

Ben Folds Discography = Melancholically Marvel-worthy. *

Especially “Still”, “Bruised”, and “The {girl} Went Nuts”.

Although nothing can ever really best Rockin’ the Suburbs, but it’s an appropriate flavor for the season. Trust us.  We’ve found our place now, and it’s now or never, or maybe whenever, whatever amen.  (<– mine, not Ben Folds’s.  Clearly.)

___

*(I was gonna work Melchizedek in there, but it just seemed wrong.  Carry on.)

Personality Traitors

Why is it that I always think of myself as possessing some superior brand of psyche?

No matter the situation, I always envision myself as being uniquely apt to deal with it, especially as compared with others.

I think this is some weird perversion of self esteem…or some weird backlash about insecurities.

Thankfully, I’m getting better at recognizing how much I suck, so this seems to be abating.  (which is another reason I’m awesome)

Oh.

Titleating

While presumptuous and egotistical letterheads are great, I’ve begun to experience that “opening a letter” feeling each time I’ve changed the blog title.

This is addictive.  I know better, and I value the merits of stability and consistency;  I also really, really like seeing a brand new nameplate up there every week or two.

It’s a Zen thing, I guess.  You wouldn’t understand.

And while we’re on the subject

I distinctly connect certain songs with certain moments of my life.  Two songs in particular have been on my mind today, but I’ll stick to one of them for now:

Someday – Michael W. Smith, “I’ll Lead You Home” (1995).  *This whole album actually rocked my world throughout ‘95-’98, but onward and upward.

At some point in elementary school, my mom started driving some of us kids to Crux climbing gym in San Luis on a regular basis.  I think we got some sort of discount through our school group, but I can’t swear to that.  Mainly because swearing on the internet is like peeing in the ocean.  You can do it, but if people you know find out, they’re less likely to go swimming with you.  Which isn’t really a big deal, since I don’t enjoy swimming all that much.  I like floating.  And diving.  Duck diving especially, although one time I think I may have almost died while doing that, which is why I’m not a big fan of seas in general.  Also, sharks.  Did you know the Caspian Sea is the world’s largest lake?  Did you know that in the Walden Media adaptation of C.S. Lewis’s Prince Caspian, Susan makes out with some guy towards the end?  Yeah, well, she does.  Which is either totally heretical to Clive’s intent, or totally consistent with the fact that he sends Susan to hell in The Last Battle. Well, sort of.  You have to read it to really get the feel for it.  I have them, but it’s an older collection that is kind of falling apart, and, to be honest, I don’t think you’ll take good care of them.  Go to a library.

So there we are, driving to Crux, and I’m around 10 or so.  I have recently acquired a pair of blue built-in radio headphones, which also doubled as loudspeakers to anyone sitting nearby, despite my aversion to listening to music loudly.  (I’m paranoid about hearing loss)  I remember listening to K-Life 89.3, which my mom was not a fan of in those days, in hopes of hearing either Someday or On My Way to Paradise, by Bob Carlisle.  As I listen to it now (after a little digging), I have no idea what attraction the latter held for me.  The guy’s voice is insufferable, and the lyrics are worthy of more eye-rolling than my out-of-shape retinas can muster.

So yeah, I was hoping to hear one of those songs on my cool headphones, and joy of joys, Good ol’ Carlisle began to fill my ears — when Juel (or perhaps Kathrene, but I’m fairly certain that Juel was more of a tattletale in those days) declared, “Robert’s listening to KLife!” in an accusatory tone to my mother.  I, of course, less-than-surreptitiously jerked the dial (located on my left ear) and declared that I was listening to the Dodger game.  Although I didn’t quite realize it, I was actually in good company for such a ploy, as neither my mom nor my sisters were astute enough to realize that Dem Bums probably weren’t cavorting about the pitch at 9:20 in the morning.  Unfortunately, my mom did what any good mom did, and declared that no one would be listening to anything if we couldn’t get along.  Then she told me to turn my headphones down, clearly insinuating that I, at my ripe old age, was entitled to make whatever choices I deemed virtuous, so long as my whiny sisters didn’t know.  Oh, the luxuries of being the favored child.  While later and conveniently-missing-from-the-records instances may offer competing evidence about my status as the ideal son, I knew, that day, that I was a man.

I’m pretty sure it wasn’t until the next week that I started crying halfway up the “Hard” level rockwall.

And now, as I listen to an ill-gotten copy of Someday, I finally enjoy the fullness of my irreversible connection between a staircase at Crux and Smitty singing about Armageddon.

Slipping Quietly into the Night

Some of my life has very definitively revolved around certain people or activities.   One of my friends and I were pretty inseparable throughout most of my adolescence, while a lot of my free time was marked by reading or sports.  While a lot of that has changed (owing mostly to spatial difficulties) in the last few years, I have lately encountered a few dying friendships that have saddened me.  Certainly, one cannot sustain old relationships without hard work and invested time, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Thankfully, I’ve found a wonderful cache of Geoff Moore to keep my melancholy musings mellifluously motoring for the forseeable future.

I hate losing people.  As some of my relationships over the years have slipped away, I have sometime felt thankful and sometimes felt guilty; occasionally, I have felt angry at that person for letting our relationship die.  In the last few weeks, I have decided to do what I can to leave the door open for some friends, whether it be a phone call, an email, or a quick visit when I happen to be in their neck of the woods.  This has involved some or no effort on my part at times; it has been frustratingly costly at others.

Back when I was looking at leaving for college, I foresaw myself with a completely new set of friends after I graduated, something like a changing cast of characters in a progressing show about growing up or something.  Now, though, I really regret the effort I have failed to expend in so many things…people are one of those, but just one.  In a weird sort of way, I’ve begun to see a sort of attraction in transitioning to a life of my own making.  My reputation at work is solely built upon what I write and say to those around me; my reputation around new friends is what they see much more than they hear.  (Gossip, thankfully, is a bit less pervasive in the post-college life. Sorry girls.)

Life is rich, and opportunities are plentiful.  I can’t change what I murphed up, but I can play NHL 2002.  I mean, move on.

But really, I’m mostly enjoying my own discovery of what it’s all about.