Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
One of My Kind by Conor Oberst
I can't live in this city
But I was born here
And I know all these people
Where they went to high school
Where they got their angle
Here they waited tables
Still call me brother
Like Cain and Abel
There, see all those old men
How'd they get so swollen?
I got so many broke friends
Who say I owe them
From when we were children
How did it happen?
Where is it going?
Is that your question, man?
Where does all your frustration lie?
Why are you pulling out your hair at night?
Just try and have a good time
All the rest aside
You're still one of my kind
I can't think in this city
But I remember
I know every story that it ever told me
Well, I got the blueprint
To create my own myth
That's what made it tragic
Like a summer snowdrift
Yeah, going to call my first love
Meet her at the new club
Tell her all that I've done
Finally be forgiven
And get good and drunk
Like it feels you're young
There are things against us
But I will fight tooth and nail
Stand in the sickening sunshine
After staying out all night
And maybe it's the good life
All the rest aside
The rest aside
The rest aside
You're still one of my kind
I can't live in this city
But I'll probably die here
Maybe that's how you feel
Maybe that's how you feel
Like a poisoned cornfield
Like a best friend backstabbed
An abandoned train track
We're living straight-lined
Are you one of my kind?
Sing it back
Around twilight on Sunday, I was driving home from my parents' house after eating a nice dinner and watching the game. I felt pretty good, but there was also a gnawing at the back of my brain; some part of me felt empty. I began thinking about our contradictory emotional nature as humans: how we can feel happy and sad all at once. I guess, I thought, the word would be: bittersweet.
A second after I thought this, the song "Bittersweet Symphony," by The Verve, came on the radio. If you've ever heard the song, you know that the intro is strings playing a wistful harmony. If you haven't heard it, go listen to it before you read on so you can catch my mood.
I turned left onto my street, which has a bunch of old trees on each side which tower above the street, providing a sort of canopy; many of these trees are jacarandas (with the pretty purple flowers). The leaves of the trees nearly meet in the middle, but there is a strip of open sky available to anyone who wishes to look up. I looked up. As the singer began to sing, as I began the slow drive toward my house, I looked in between the trees to see a plane flying low (I live near the Long Beach Airport), going the opposite direction. We both kept moving toward each other until we converged, and I nearly came to a stop as I watched the bottom of the plane as it flew by me. It passed out of sight and I watched it descend in my rearview mirror until it disappeared.
I pulled into my driveway and sat for a minute, maybe two, and listened to the song. It was the perfect soundtrack to that particular moment in time.
I knew, as I sat there, that I couldn't stop time, that it would keep moving whether I wanted it to or not.
We all converge for a brief time until we pass by one another, and we watch each other recede in our rearview mirrors until we disappear.
Those few brief moments we've had have been sweet, and the flying by can be bitter, but only if we let it be. The people in my life are amazing, and in the most selfish sense, I want to freeze the frame, put it in an album, and hide it away so I can look at it when I get sad. But at the same time, I don't want anyone to stop at all. I want all these people I love to keep flying on to their next destinations so they can have new experiences in other places.
Yeah, it's a bittersweet symphony.
But I prefer the sweet, don't you?
A second after I thought this, the song "Bittersweet Symphony," by The Verve, came on the radio. If you've ever heard the song, you know that the intro is strings playing a wistful harmony. If you haven't heard it, go listen to it before you read on so you can catch my mood.
I turned left onto my street, which has a bunch of old trees on each side which tower above the street, providing a sort of canopy; many of these trees are jacarandas (with the pretty purple flowers). The leaves of the trees nearly meet in the middle, but there is a strip of open sky available to anyone who wishes to look up. I looked up. As the singer began to sing, as I began the slow drive toward my house, I looked in between the trees to see a plane flying low (I live near the Long Beach Airport), going the opposite direction. We both kept moving toward each other until we converged, and I nearly came to a stop as I watched the bottom of the plane as it flew by me. It passed out of sight and I watched it descend in my rearview mirror until it disappeared.
I pulled into my driveway and sat for a minute, maybe two, and listened to the song. It was the perfect soundtrack to that particular moment in time.
I knew, as I sat there, that I couldn't stop time, that it would keep moving whether I wanted it to or not.
We all converge for a brief time until we pass by one another, and we watch each other recede in our rearview mirrors until we disappear.
Those few brief moments we've had have been sweet, and the flying by can be bitter, but only if we let it be. The people in my life are amazing, and in the most selfish sense, I want to freeze the frame, put it in an album, and hide it away so I can look at it when I get sad. But at the same time, I don't want anyone to stop at all. I want all these people I love to keep flying on to their next destinations so they can have new experiences in other places.
Yeah, it's a bittersweet symphony.
But I prefer the sweet, don't you?
Monday, June 15, 2009
Monday
Usually I abhor Mondays with the fire of fifty suns. I look out my window with what I'm sure is an expression of complete futility.
Today is different. I am happy and sad all at once because it's the last week until the end of the year: happy at the good times to come; sad at the thought of all you guys leaving.
What is this strange feeling at the center of my chest? Could it be...? I think...
Yes, I have a heart. And it's halfway broken.
Fix it, please.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Nightmare
I had another dream that I shaved my beard, but only partially this time.
What's my subconscious trying to tell me?
To be honest, I'm quite tired of this beard. It's been fun, but I want it to be gone. Only a couple more days and my wish will be fulfilled.
Kudos to Karthik for being the only one man enough to keep it for the full term.
Breezy
My cat is mad, batshit crazy, insane.
She will be standing in a room, watching me get dressed or brush my teeth, and she will inexplicably run at top speed down the hallway and all throughout the house; she climbs the curtains and puts little claw holes in them so it looks like stars in the daytime; she ascends the screens and perches on top of the open doors; she walks along my headboard and jumps (unprovoked) on my face while I'm reading; she nurses on a soft blanket I have on the couch and purrs so loud she sounds like an engine (She's doing it right now, in fact.).
She looks like a gray tiger, with black stripes all down her body and on her belly and on her legs. She has what looks like an "M" on her forehead, and little white patches next to her eyes surrounded in black so it looks like she's wearing a superhero mask. Her paws are white like she's wearing little white shoes.
Sometimes I get so frustrated with her antics that I yell at the top of my lungs. But she just stares at me, looking bored, as if to say, "Really? Is that all you got?"
She's insane: no doubt about it.
But I love her.
I envy her energy. There are many times in my life when I wish that I could have the courage to run top speed, climb curtains, perch on doors, and display a general disdain for others' disapproval. She gives life her all, and then she sleeps so deeply. I envy that too. I'd be willing to wager that only humans suffer from insomnia.
When all the women leave me, she will be here.
That's not so bad, is it?
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