"...everybody hurts..."*

I have a couple sad thoughts on my mind at the moment, so I’ll get them out of the way now rather than bring them up later.

I’m home this weekend and find it difficult to sleep because of upstairs neighbors. Actually, it’s their dog.

There’s no sound more mournful than the howl of a dog. It doesn’t matter whether it’s young or old, it’s always the saddest thing you can ever remember hearing. The dog upstairs is an old cocker spaniel named Muffy. Around 8:30 or 9pm, the humans of the house leave and she starts crying. I guess she’s just lonely.

I saw my grandmother cry today for the first time. My grandfather, her husband of 55 years passed away at 1 o’clock this morning. That’s the reason I came home. I was prepared for his death, but I wasn’t prepared for her tears. In those 55 years, he was a pretty crappy husband to her, but after so long a time, I suppose she had gotten used to him. Now she’s scared to sleep in the apartment alone. I guess she’s just lonely.

*And few bands are sadder sounding than R.E.M.

Such a big "ta' do".

Something truly amazing happened today. I completed all but one thing on my To Do list. This is something that has never happened before, at least not with such a lofty list. I even had time to work on a fun art project during my.......... (wait for it)........... FREE TIME? I had kind of forgotten what free time actually was. Most of my free time ends up being used for mindless pursuits because I'm too tired and wound up to do anything I actually might enjoy and put some effort into. In terms of level of accomplishment, I' just as satisfied as if I completed my entire list today.

On top of all this, I even wrote out a To Do list for tomorrow, and it's looking promising. Two of the things on the list MUST get done, therefore they will, which means I'm already certain I'll complete two tasks tomorrow. I've even planned time to go to the gym. Then again, there's supposed to be a snow storm tonight, so we'll see what happens.

EXTRA! EXTRA!

As a favor to a friend and a further experiment in writing for an audience, I wrote an article for our college news paper on the concert I attended which inspired my previous rant. For a more complete look at my thought from the evening, I've put the unedited version below, (though I believe uncensored is a more appropriate term).
Enjoy!:

Friday night was my first visit to Swarthmore's Old Club. I came away from it with a mixed bag of feelings but, overall, had a really great time. The theme of the night seemed to be violins, as pointed out by Ra Ra Riot's lead vocal, Wes Miles. After the first opening band's fantastic fiddling fury, the second openers, The Money Notes were indeed money. Their folk-funk funk fusion, (if that even adequately captures their sound), provided the house with brilliant covers of classics like 'Lil Liza Jane and Poison Ivy and a  little Weezer thrown into the mix. Their original pieces had me and my friends breaking out into spontaneously choreographed dance, a sight rarely seen by Swarthmore students, as I overheard from a confused, rhythm impaired individual behind me. Additional attempts of stand-up were also appreciated by those of us who were sober.

Things took an unsavory turn in the set-up time between the end of The Money Notes' set and the start of Ra Ra Riot's. A gaggle of belligerently drunk chicks pushed and stumbled their way to the front of the stage beside me. From that moment until about twenty minutes into the headliners' set, I was jostled and pushed to front row, dead center, which would have been great if I didn't have to restrain myself from assaulting the people standing next to me. I felt like I was on the loosing side of the battle of Thermoplyae from that scene in 300 when the Spartans were pushing Persians off a cliff into the sea. In addition to moving about in a particularly elbowy fashion, they were completely fucking with the sound equipment at the foot of the stage which resulted in a noticable amount of feedback  as well as pissing off singer Miles and cellist Alexandra Lawn. Nearly getting burned in the face by a cigarette belonging to the chicks' tall friend, I decided it was time to get out of the fray and ash and fade to the back of the crowd. Later I had to face the obnoxious antics of moshers, but fortunately I found a place with like-minded individuals. (Side note: Sometimes you don't need to fight for your right to party. You just need to go with it and want to have fun. If it's still not fun, maybe you need to rethink your life or leave the joint.)

Once there, peacefully swaying with the people packed against me, I was actually able to enjoy Ra Ra Riot's performance. I also no longer needed to confront guitarist Milo Bonocci's' tight pants, (let's just say I now know he dresses to the left). The performance was a pure explosion of sound, a synesthesia inducing epic that left me wanting more by the end. There wasn't any time to think about the fact that I had never listened to their music before; I just absorbed as much of the furious melodies pelting me from the stage. There was only the music and we were all just ears. No, I was not high. I was perhaps the most conscious and aware that I've been in a while. Ra Ra Riot delivered, in every sense of the word, dealing nobly with the problems caused by drunk chicks and apologizing several times for having to cancel a previously scheduled performance at Swat. I left a fan of two bands I'd never heard before as well as a new and loyal patron of Old Club.

12 car pile up

A bit of a rant if you don't mind:

I'm currently (rather, perpetually) taking issue with liberal arts student at nocturnal social gatherings. I understand the concept of “study hard: party hard,” however, these people are are trying just a little too hard. Sometimes you don't need to fight for your right to party, especially when it's being handed to you on a silver platter. All that effort is just sad.

For example:
Folk-funk fusion bands do not require body surfing.

A further example:
Most bands are not made for moshing. (Warning: potentially racist comment ahead). White people, quit you goddamn'd inappropriate moshing to the proper genres of rock. I know all of you don't do this, White people, but to those that do, quit it. To those that don't, lead by example. Do not put up with the stupidity of others.

As a sub category of liberal arts students, the ones without any common sense really need a punch in the face.

For example:
If you're in an environment that mixes crowds and movement, (say, a moshing one), DO NOT light a cigarette. I was nearly stabbed in the face twice with the lit end of someone's cancer stick. But forget about my face; there was an inordinate amount of hair gel up in there. Talk about flammable. I doubt waving a stick of cinders at head level is a recipe for fire safety.

All right. I think it's out of my system.

Go back to your lives, citizens. Live another day and make merry.

T is for "Tabogon". I mean, "Tray."

I'm proud to say that I've been doing a pretty good job of keeping my resolutions. Ok, maybe not the posting one, but hey, I'm only human.

I've been especially good on the physical activity part of my resolution. Today I did it in the most wonderful way imaginable: Traying.

For those of you who don't know, traying is very similar to sledding, in fact, it's identical, except for the choice of equipment. When sledding, one uses a sled to glide smoothly down snow covered hills. When traying, one (temporarily) steals a tray from the dinning hall and slides, luge style, down a hill at an alarming rate, getting covered in snow, feeling every bump, and freezing most parts of your body. It is, to borrow the vernacular of a young Keanu Reeves, TOTALLY EXCELLENT! I can think of no better words to describe the feeling of racing down a hill with only your but actually sitting on top of your vehicle, your limbs either in the air or inches from the ground.

We worked our way up, from bunny slopes all the way to the smaller of the larger hills on campus, the slope that leads to the field hockey field. It was great because once you finished coming down the hill, there was a the whole 50 yards of flat space that you would continue flying across. It's the most terrifying and exhilarating experience all at the same time. At one point a did a spectacular 360 on my butt and kept going!

Let's Make a Deal!

If there's one thing I love, it's getting a great deal. If you didn't already know this after reading my lauding of the Tanger Outlet mall in Deer Park, Long Island, now you can be sure. As was the case today, I got my hair cut... for $4.50. In New York City.

I'll give you a moment to pick up your jaw from the floor.

Yes, by opting to get my hair cut at a beauty school instead of a salon I saved a crap ton of money. Normally, it would have cost me around $9, but because it was my first visit, I received a 50 percent discount! This great deal was found at Empire Beauty School on 34th street. The entrance to the joint is a little sketchy and there is a somewhat limited window of time to get your hair done (11 am- 2:30pm and 5pm-7pm on week days), plus it takes a little longer since a student will be cutting your hair, but if you have the time it is SO worth the price. This is my second time getting my hair cut at a school and I would highly recommend it to anyone.

On top of it, the woman who cut my hair gave me a few suggestions on how to recover my curls. Could boing-ing joy be in my future?

Puppies: The spice of life

Sometimes happiness is a walk on the beach and a puppy. That's exactly what happened yesterday. I spent part of the afternoon walking on the beach with a good friend. This walk followed an exceptionally long and fulfilling bout of Mortal Kombat vs. DC on her family's Xbox console. I now want to own an Xbox (up yours Wii!), but that's another story.

I had never been to the beach during the winter. It felt like an entirely new, alien landscape. The play of light off of the snow made the water seem more blue. There were tons more shells on the shore since there weren't any people collecting them as happens when it's warmer out. The snow crunched like the top of creme brule when you stepped on it. It was beautiful. The stroll was made all the more enjoyable when a 12 week old border collie appeared, trotting between us. She began to leap, joyfully, when she came upon us. We, naturally, began to pet her, only to hear the most extraordinary Scottish accent shout, “Don' letter jomp on yuh! Push 'er doun!” (Trans: Don't let her jump on you. Push her down.)

Turns out, he was really a nice architect who lived in the area and worked out of his house. Once we pushed her down, the dog, (Kayle was her name), pranced inquisitively at our side, looking up at us curiously from time to time and inspecting shells and sea weed along the way. That's when we learned she was 12 months old; terribly intelligent for her age. She was born of working stock in Vermont who still herd sheep.

She'll probably be a hard working dog like her parents.

Coincidence? I think not.

I made a wonderful inter-textual connection today! It goes as follows:

Last week, I started reading the graphic novel, Watchmen. It's pretty amazing in spite, if not because, of how depressing it is. Either way, I recommend it. Point is, on page 10 chapter 6, it is revealed that the initial motivation behind the vigilante Rorschach's career was the murder of a young girl, Kitty Genovese.

Here's the connection:

The film Boondock Saints begins with a priest's homely, honoring the death of one Kitty Genovese, on the one-year anniversary of her death. This event, though it doesn't actually take place in the movie, lays the foundation for what later is the motivation of the film's vigilantes, the McManus brothers, i.e. the Boondock Saints. The film poses on of the same questions as the comic: Who watches the watchmen? Who's right is it to administer justice.

Is it a coincidence that writer-director Troy Duffy unseen but ever present character shares her name with an identical character in More and Gibbons' Watchmen? I thought not. So, I did some google-ing. It didn't take much searching.

As it turns out, Kitty Genovese was a real person who was killed in 1964 under similar circumstances alluded to in both the comic and the movie, though the year and location of her death as well as her age are altered in Duffy's film while the comic almost certainly is referring to the exact same death. Now that my ear and eye are more aware of her presence and the symbolic nature of her murder, I think she'll be popping up everywhere, like a rare word you learn the meaning of for the first time.

There's just another addition to my random fact arsenal/ cult fandom encyclopedia.

They have yet to make a box that big

A while back I packed up a lot of my childhood memories and put them in a box at the back of the closet. Well, not exactly my memories, (those wouldn't fit in boxes), but many of the things that made them. In an attempt to reclaim some space in my ever shrinking room in my parents' house, I put a bunch of toys, keepsakes and VHS tapes that I or my parents couldn't part with into the depths of our downstairs closet. Several VHS classics, however, I left unpacked, knowing I would want to view them at some point in the not too distant future. These include some off-beat Disney classics, like The Great Mouse Detective and Robin Hood, as well as some standard classics, a la Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin.

Cut to earlier this week:

I was shocked to discover several of my friends had never seen The Pagemaster, an AMAZING movie that came out when we were kids. Knowing I had it on VHS, I went to my stash today to pull it out and place it with the things I'm taking back to school after break.

It wasn't there! Unknowingly, I packed it with the other things that are now trapped in the chasms of the closet. My only hope is that when we put the Christmas decorations away this weekend I might be able to locate the box their hidden in. The Forces that Be, grant me luck, because people really need to see this movie. I mean, it's quality.

The Mixed Up Files of Mr Philippe de Montebello

I spent most of my afternoon at the Metropolitan Museum of Art today. My main reason for going (besides that fact that it's cheap, warm and beautiful), was to see the current Philippe de Montebello exhibit; he's a renowned curator for the Met and the museum's current director. In thirty-one years, he has acquired over 80 thousand pieces for the museum. The exhibit puts together around 300 of those pieces. What's wonderful about it is that, other than appearing pleasing in their placement next to each other, the piece have no relationship to each other, what so ever.

Only in a few spots of the exhibit is there something that could be called a “theme,” with much of the start of it taken up by sketches and etchings, but for the most part 2nd century busts stand unapologetically beside 19th century oil paintings. Eclectic doesn't even begin to describe the variety in this exhibit; it's almost like The Breakfast Club took the form of an art exhibit. Things are arranged kind of how I imagine a personal collector might arrange art in their home. I guess that's how we're being asked to look at and appreciate the work of de Montebello; he could have easily been a personal collector, but he's shared his gifted knack of collection and his collector's eye with the museum and all of its visitors. It also makes the exhibit that much more personal; I felt like I was walking through the aesthetic section of de Montebello's mind. I don't even know the guy, so I have no way of verifying whether his acquisitions reflect his personal taste but hidden among the vast display, I found one small photo of him, de Montebello himself, taken in front of the Temple of Dendur in the Egyptian gallery. It seemed to reflect a sort of unassuming cheekiness, the exact personality I think would be drawn to all the items on display.

The January 5th Resolution

Whereas it's taken me five days to get my act together,
Whereas it's never too late to make a change,
Whereas there's always room for self improvement,

Be it resolved that I shall commit, (ooo there's a scary word), to the following 2009 New Year's Resolutions.

First, that I drink one cup of tea each day, though I must take a break every three days from caffeinated elixirs.

Second, that I enter HGTV's Dream Home Giveaway contest every day until February 19th, the contest's end. That sucker's gunna' get sold to pay off my college debt, (that is, assuming the housing market improves...).

Third, that I have at least twenty consecutive minutes of physical activity each day.

Fourth, that I make a concerted effort to write on this blog three times each week. It doesn't have to be long, I just have to do it.

Fifth, that I make a concerted effort to write in my personal journal as often as possible.

Sixth, that I make a concerted effort to show patience toward my parents. They can't help that they're getting old.

Seventh, that I make a concerted effort to stay in contact with people I don't get to see that often, if at all.

Eighth, that in July I will renew these resolutions, take note of my progress and, if possible, make some new resolutions. Who says you have to wait until January 1st to make resolutions. Refer to the second Whereas; it works the other way too, that is, it's never too soon to start making change.

* The above is an oil painting of the sloop, the HMS Resolution, captained by James Cook during his 2nd and 3rd journeys across the Pacific.