lemonade

this past week was a wild one, yet has revealed itself in a musical way to boot.  i went to the matinee movie, had an out-of-control pest problem, and survived an office crash.

my oldest son has been getting into hip hop music & culture over the past couple of years and, like any responsible middle-aged man, i can't let him think the sun rises and sets with drake.  i dumped mp3 mixtapes onto his phone - tupac, biggie, nwa, sugar hill gang, grandmaster flash, public enemy, krs one, gangstarr, mos def, early eminem, outkast, missy, tribe, rakim, and others.  he slowly embraced this stuff and, when i thought he was ready, we went to the cinema and checked out "straight outta compton".  pretty cool movie, but even cooler hearing your 16-year old giant whispering along with ice cube's lyrics. that's one point for mike giles.

our house is situated on the outskirts of town, backing up to an alley of cottonwood trees and a quiet ravine.  it is a gorgeous location, but comes with its share of wildlife. fox, groundhogs, deer, rabbits, chipmunks, and a veritable who's who out of the aviary textbook.  we also have plenty of mosquitos, dragonflies, and wasps.  we started noticing a few yellowjackets flying around our wall of windows, trying to escape.  (no, not bob mintzer and jimmy haslip). in about ten days' time, we ran into a whole mess of them, coating the glass.  we found their entrance and nest - inside the house - and went hellbent with the wasp spray. we eventually called an exterminator, sealed up the seven entry points, and wiped out the colony (fingers crossed).

throughout the whole time, i couldn't help but think of my early interest in the jazz fusion group sharing the same name.  they seemed so harmless.  there was something about will kennedy's drumming and marc russo's saxophone work that had me smitten with their sound.  the harmonies moved around more than most smooth jazz acts, and their album production shined with that grp glitter.  this insect fiasco had me listening to geraldine, feeling guilty with my ears in the clouds & the wife waging war on the wasps.



my friend chad, engineer and office neighbor, called me on friday, concerned that i had fallen (and couldn't get up) in my office.  he had heard a loud thud and freaked out. my top bookshelf, loaded down with a bazillion magazines and assortment of lps, took a spill and miraculously missed my horns.  i had a huge mess to clean up, but an opportunity to go through all of my old journals and records.  what a blast - magazines with covers of lester bowie, george benson, ornette coleman, zorn/wynton, and the bad plus. albums by shalamar, anthony braxton, eddie jefferson, john coltrane, and the thompson twins.  it took me a long time to embrace my eclectic tastes, to feel like it's okay to like what i like and to ignore the naysayers.  i'm glad i have finally found that settling space and am always excited to build upon this myriad of influences.

as the rapper atmosphere so eloquently put it -
when life gives you lemons, you paint that shit gold.

the power of the half note

i hate playing fast.   everyone who knows me musically is hip to that.  i guess i can hang, but i get so frustrated when i allow the speed of things to dictate what i'm doing. i often play insincere and artificial shit instead of meaningful lines, merely because i'm wanting to ... actually, i'm not sure what i'm wanting to do with the fast tempos.  am i making an artistic statement to which i want to be accountable?  i'll confess that i don't really work on playing fast.  i'm not sure i view it as a fault as much as something i just don't like doing.  call me stubborn, hypocritical.  i'd simply prefer to put my time into other musical outings that trip my trigger.

i love listening to the late charlie haden.  his solos are simple, melodic, and full of depth.  he smells the roses while waltzing through these chord changes.  as i write this, i'm listening to his duo effort with guitarist pat metheny.  it's rare to hear charlie tackle and burn on a fast tune.  the way he digs into mid-tempo songs feels like he's playing in half time, swapping out the quarter note with a half note - simply (and cleverly) changing the 4/4 meter to a 4/2 pulse.

i turned over another year yesterday.  bushwick bill's line "my mind is playing tricks on me" is a fitting caption for last year.  success as a parent, spouse, educator and artist is all subjective.  my manic, perfectionist perspective pollutes my self image while fueling my creative machine.  quite the cruel twist, but a battle i'm up for on the daily.  i'm working on gratitude, pumping the brakes on my self-induced tailspin so i can enjoy more of what i have and focus far less upon what i want (or better yet, what i think i'm supposed to want. THAT is the first taste to my demise.)  my jazz professor from undergrad used to preach the adage "the race is not to the swift", and i think it has finally resonated within me.  so for my 42nd spin, i'll be with charlie - digging on those half notes.

 

the sheriff

i have decided to systematically vanish from the social media world.  i have a difficult time managing myself and my thoughts while flashing through an assortment of posts and comments - staying positive, keeping perspective, living in the now.  my wife assures me that there are plenty of good articles out there.  i guess i'd rather have her be the mercenary who brings me that bounty.

but thank god for facebook.  i was thumbing through it this morning and noted two things:  a fellow class of '91 survivor has taken up a blog, and another good friend posted an nytimes obit.  i'm glad to know that tina is writing, as she has always been a multi-talented and intriguing young woman.  and i usually check out what james is up to, a fantastic guitarist and one of the most down-to-earth guys i know.  sadly, he reported the news that my one of my heroes has passed.

i experienced ornette coleman in giant steps.  an early college pal geoff, possessing a myriad of musical influences ranging from neneh cherry to primus, first hipped me to change of the century.  the music deconstructed my ears, which were replete with syrupy vocal jazz harmonies.  i loved the new direction of this sound took a copy of that album back to my apartment, which roosted in the top of an abandoned funeral home, and popped it in the cassette deck.  ramblin' changed my life.

as an undergrad, i walked into the old real records in iowa city, at it's original location on washington.  i had no real idea of what i was looking for, and was dressed with the house music - ornette playing with prime time on the album tone dialing.  the sound, that of the saxophone and of the ensemble, was what i had been searching for through most of my life.  a yearning, urban, poignant, feel-good vibe.  street blues changed my life.

i went to a festival of new music and film at the walker art center in minneapolis.  i sat in the same seat for 9 hours, consumed with the aural and visual stimuli, which were no doubt fueled by an urge to go pee but doused by my fear of losing this choice location.  i watched the bang on a can all-stars play a set of chamber music written by ornette, only to have him join them on stage for a handful of charts.  i was punch drunk on creativity, exhausted from the core exercises i was doing to keep my bathroom needs at bay, and smitten with ornette's sound.  he was dressed in all white, wore a snappy fedora, played a white saxophone, and spun harmolodic lines that soothed my soul.  i literally felt like i was in heaven.  this performance changed my life.  at that very moment, i committed myself to chasing an artistry that is built upon my personalized belief system - not created by institutionalized jazz education or documentaries (i'm looking at you, ken burns).

my therapist says i need to spend more time thinking about, experimenting with, listening to, and creating alongside ideas that are nurtured by those who are most important to me and this pursuit.   he calls them 'the authorities'. ornette coleman wore the shiniest badge in my town.  rest in peace, ornette.  and thanks...

the ebb and flow of this life

i believed an assortment of untruths when i was young (oh my god, is this me confessing in cyberpublic that i am old?), and they have now since been blown out of the water. examples?  you got 'em:  eating out for every meal is a great idea. coffee is for sissies.  my metabolism will keep on boiling like this throughout my days.  there will never be overturned calls in major league baseball.  white socks with black dress pants is ballin'.  cars are cheap. stargazing is boring.  chicks dig guys who curse.  music is about having super chops.  my heroes will live forever.

i can't believe that the great kenny wheeler has passed. he is one of the first people i ever heard that helped me recognize that developing my own voice needed to be my top priority.  his sound maintained a fragile confidence.  i felt like he was willing to die on the sword for his ideas, for every last night.  and the way he would puncture the stratosphere with squeezes that often seemed like they might not (but always did) make it.  pure magic.

his voice wasn't only in his tonal concept, but also in the way he navigated harmonic structures and rhythmic puzzles. he was deceptive, calculating, always in control, mystical. i want to lean on notes like kenny, open notes like kenny, omit notes like kenny, shine on notes like kenny.  

i had the opportunity to enjoy three views of the secret that is gentle piece.  it was one of the first tunes i played with my college jazz band.  i had the lee konitz solo in the band and fell head-over-heels for the changes. such a beautiful work, and it deserved me pouring my sweat & tears into it.  much later, i had the absolute pleasure of seeing kenny when my friends bob & chris brought him to their school and recreated the entire collection from music for large and small ensembles, complete with norma winstone's gorgeous countermelodies and whisps of light from john abercrombie.  kenny sat throughout the show and was unbelievable.  un-be-LIEVABLE.  i was so moved that i brought the tune again to my band and did it on a concert a couple years ago.  my kids were smitten by the music, and most probably couldn't tell you a thing about kenny wheeler if you slapped twenty bucks on the table. 

angel song came out at the right time for me, a time when i needed real stuff to light my path.  frisell is perfect for this record, dave holland fits nicely with the tunes, and lee is god's foil for kenny.  onmo and nicolette are perfection.  this album singlehandedly directed the next ten years of my life, and still rides shotgun today.

may your soul rest peacefully, mr. wheeler.  many thanks.

number 19

i used to collect baseball cards all of the time.  all of my allowance, paper route earnings, and money i had pledged to give to the church fed this teenage addiction.  i didn't discriminate either; donruss, fleer, upper deck, and topps (with that awful gum).  i even had a brief love affair with baseball stickers.  i would rifle through them all day, reviewing the stats and ordering them by team (and alphabetically within that system).  i would entertain the occasional trade, but felt so connected to every last card i released from its waxy imprisonment that i could rarely come to grips with releasing them.

my guy was tony gwynn, the lefty technician who spent his entire career manning right field for the san diego padres. i loved the way he swung the bat. i loved the way he led off from first.  i loved his voice.

i watched countless interviews of him, intoxicated by what he was saying and how he was saying it.  he spoke about his love for playing jazz drums, flipping the switch for me and enabling me to think that jazz was actually cool.  he was one of the first guys to study his stroke with videotape. this brutally honest tactic is something that i try to do regularly with my sound - studying what's really happening instead of what i think is going on.

i have never had much of an affinity for one particular musician.  i like a bunch of them, but haven't been drawn to anybody who stands out from the pack.  tony gwynn - the 18 time all star, owner of 8 batting titles, member of the 3000 hit club, and recipient of 5 golden gloves - was my guy.  he lost his battle with salivary gland cancer today, at the age of 54.  i salute you, mr. gwynn.

rhonda sue fry giles

i love my mom.  she has done so many wonderful things for me.  she has endured my angst-riddled teens (and twenties) (and thirties), teaching me countless life lessons as i go. my musical memories with her are limited yet exceptional. she threw a big family reception at our house, allowing me to sit at the head of the table after having fronted my 5th grade band with a saxophone rendition of "hello, dolly!"  i also accompanied her on my casio keyboard while she sang the oak ridge boys classic "thank god for kids" during a children's time session during church.  pretty sure that we are both glad that there is no video footage of that.

that's my mom on the cover of one of my records, holding a cake that she baked & decorated specifically for the photo shoot.  she is always in the kitchen, creating culinary concoctions after having internalized recipes.  i'm not quite there yet as an amateur chef, but my approach to musical improvisation is often similar in that regard.  i find myself kinda eyeballing the forms and my contributions instead of sticking to what it says on the back of the box.

my mom roused me out of bed only twice in my life (not counting the numerous times she pounded a hole through my door with her fist, trying to get me to wake up in the morning).  being a lifelong st. louis cardinals fan, we began to go to games every summer during my 9th spin around the sun.  she wanted my sister and i to watch bruce sutter slam the door on the lowly brewers in the '82 world series. he hurled his untouchable splitter for the final strikeout, and the three of us jumped into each others' arms.

the other time she allowed me to stay up was to watch george benson perform on the johnny carson show.  i don't remember what george played, but he killed.  he did that sing-along scatting thing with his guitar.  i was blown away, both at what he was doing and because my mom was letting me watch tv this late on a school night.  i've always held a soft spot for george since then, despite his fruitful forays into smooth jazz and the pencil stache. the wife and i played his version of here, there and everywhere off his 1989 album as one of our wedding songs.

you know that joyfully cautious feeling you get when you discover that two artists you dig have collaborated on a project, and that relieving happiness you revel in once you hear it and have your unfair expectations met?  yeah, well that happened to me when i first heard kneebody & theo bleckmann join forces to reimagine tunes by charles ives for winter & winter.  my favorite cut is songs my mother taught me.  i'm not so sure that my mom taught me any per se, but she was a wonderful storyteller to us kids.  she would take common vignettes and twist them around, personalizing them for me & my sister while gobbling up the entire block of time that the story often served to stopgap.  ask her to give you the cliffsnotes version of "rapunzel".  her creativity with childhood stories has had a long-lasting effect on me as an artist.



thanks mom, and happy mother's day

yeah, what that pretty russian girl said

i have two terrible habits (well, two that i'll mention):

i get hooked on one particular song on an album.  i can't let it go, and yeah - that's a good thing, right?  i mean, i really like it or i'm perplexed by something about it or i want to soak it in more or i am curious as to how it will change in my head if i hear it a whole bunch of times in a row.  that's all well and fine, but my unstable attention span (call it what you will) doesn't encourage me to give the rest of the album a shot.  my dear friend joel hipped me to magic numbers by quinsin nachoff, and i never got past the third track.  it took me over ten years to listen to the rest of kenny wheeler's angel song, because i was afraid that the rest of it wouldn't measure up to nicolette

i rarely understand song lyrics, something i've known for quite a while.  i can understand them if i sit down and read the liner notes, but have zero success gathering their meaning midstream.  i used to memorize books of rap lyrics from d-nice, slick rick the ruler, kool moe dee, rakim, mc lyte, third bass - and spit them back flawlessly with the street knowledge only a white kid growing up in a small farming community could grasp.   i like songs that have lyrics just fine.  i just can't seem to remember them, and any heavy meaning attached is often lost on me.

i've been crushed by the flu bug recently, missing a couple of days at school and logging 22 hours of pert-near straight shuteye.  other family casualties included my youngest son and the wife, who is currently reeling from her battle with the winter foe.  lots of horizontal time + lots of drugs + absence of routine + regular daily shit that i sometimes struggle to handle = swoons into the darkness, the depths from which neither steve harvey's big ol' lips nor new laughs my favorite rerun can snatch me.

i made the 15 minute cruise in my car tonight to go watch my oldest son ball with his freshman squad, and popped in the headphones en route.  i dialed up regina spektor's far album, scrolled to the only track i've checked out, hit repeat and play.  one of my students, the type of girl i could only hope my kids will date in the future, hipped me to this record.  this is her favorite tune too.  i let it overflow into my ears, and kept it running as i meandered through crowded high school hallway maze to the gymnasium. and then it hit me ...

"you're using your headphones to drown out your mind"

i stopped dead in my tracks, in front of the tacky glass cases which house all of those trophies that seemed to mean the world at the time and now have cruelly met their fate as mere decor, and thought about that lyric.  do i do this? how i often do i do this?  i know its okay to find refuge in music, but am i clutching to it like linus to his blanket?  and is that so bad?  somebody tell me it's not.

i've read some interpretations of the vague prose, and have settled into a couple of possibilities.  "eet" is the backspace on an old school typewriter, allowing you to type over a letter; not as a correction, but instead as a redo. this song is about sadness, depression, a lost faith and sense of self.  suddenly the world has changed, but really you are the one that has changed - and you can't remember who you are, how it happened, or how to get back.

now, chalk it up to copious doses of nyquil or nearly a day's worth of dreaming, but the personal timing is eerie as hell.  either way, it's a beautiful tune.

hey claire - thanks for turning me on to it.

last year in the rear view mirror

after watching this video, i quickly realized that objects that loom in my future may be closer than they appear.



for this next trip around the globe, i pledge to be more careful with what i consume.  flipping over the big four-o has made this essential.  here's my plan of attack:

*my mouth* lots of friends i know are scraping together a career while eating smart and living clean.  many of these same friends know what's up with organic groceries and clever prep concepts.  i love cooking and experimenting with veggies, fruit smoothies, and healthy snacks for my two kids; one a budding athlete and the other an underweight gamer.  baller kevin love, the best 4 in the association, has completely overhauled his diet by being accountable for everything that hits his digestive system.

*my muscles* i've always thought of my body being my vehicle with which i will cruise around our universe.  i need to keep that engine humming by doing more yoga, working through p90x2, and getting into running.  i hate doing it but am always so glad afterwards that i did.  my metabolism has definitely downshifted, so i want to resume exercising and stretching and balancing, all in an effort to uncover shreds of physical self worth.

*my ears* one of the perils of my gig is working with students on music.  they might not always be happening, but i gotta keep looking at their progress and replenish my mind with good music.  i sometimes loose sight of what i like to hear, which could have a dangerously close correlation to my performance.  i gotta be sure that i'm listening to good music from all pockets of the world and stay in front of it all.  recent feel-good tastes include the goat rodeo sessions and some luda/usher collabs.

*my eyeballs* i've got books i want to read.  i snagged one by phil jackson, another by stephen hawking, a reader of sorts about tom waits, and have an infatuation with oliver sacks. i've got movies i want to watch, including the new joaquin phoenix spike jonze masterpiece.  i just saw nebraska last night with simon, and it was great.  and i've got our world that i want to take in, with walks in my neighborhood, looking at the trees, the birds, the clouds.

*my psyche* i want to be around people who are good for my head, not those that make me feel inferior or dump their burdens on me.  i want to be around people who inspire me, not continually frustrate me by clutching to archaic and seemingly unproven dogmas.  i plan to continue being a good listener and a supportive guide to my students, but need to heed my own advice - at the end of the day, you are the only person that you could expect is actually thinking about all of the shit going on in your world.  grip it, own it, solve it, and then move it out of the way.

some of my friends are saying good riddance to 2013.  it seems like yesterday that i was dancing and singing in my room to my cassette of prince's 1999 album, wondering what that mystical year would be like.  and then i think, that's fifteen years ago, homeboy.  hey 2014 - let's do this.

the butcher, the baker

candlestick park, the legendary sports venue of northern california, hosted its final event tonight.  i saw a baseball game there about twenty years ago.  rocking my black cross colour jeans and matching tshirt, i felt like a million bucks but nearly froze to death that evening. barry bonds, pre-roids, went deep and helped the giants beat the expos.  and this reminds me of two stories:

i played in a jazz trio back in college.  saxophone, bass, drums - and i was totally outclassed.  i was definitely the weak link in that group, and that was the first time i experienced becoming motivated by that inferiority. playing with the mustafas marked the first time that i ever really cared about learning tunes, thought much about improvising, and practiced my saxophone to actually get better.  we played standard rep and a few originals.  we were doing a casual somewhere and the bass player called out a blues.  i couldn't remember how the melody went and was starting different tunes.  he kept looking at me, shaking his head, barking out "wrong head, man", and turning around the opening to offer me another crack at it.  i really wanted to punch that guy in the face, but learned two valuable lessons - you owe it to your bandmates to be prepared, and you can't bullshit your friends.

i played in an electro-acoustic quartet while i lived in minneapolis.  about ouch! was a really fun band, doing all original music and plenty of free jazz.  i ran my horn through a bunch of effects alongside a great guitarist, a talented drummer, and a remarkably creative electronics guy.  we played a bunch around the twin cities and cut a record up in ann arbor.  we toured the album a little bit, and played a hit at the candlestick maker in chicago.  we crashed at the drummer's grandma's house, and she hooked us up with cozy crocheted blankets and yummy polish food. only four people came out to our show, but it ended up being one of our best ever.  the final tune was a free thing, and the other three guys were killing it.  man, i wanted to play so badly, but i just couldn't find the right spot to jump in and not screw up what they were doing.  i sat out.

i think about these two moments often.  i have to remind myself to work work work, study study study, prepare prepare prepare, and then make sure that what i'm doing actually serves the music properly.

t-i-o-n shun shunshun shun

i can't be the only person shuffling around the earth's surface who thinks about that schoolhouse rock bit every time i write out a word with that suffix.  i hum it whenever i type or write out that four-letter cocktail. that's either some type of ocd tick or my own personal tradition. this holiday season brings traditional routines to life, often met with wide smiles and warm hearts. prince once sang that there is joy in repetition, although i'm pretty sure he wasn't referring to christmas customs.



some family rituals are etched into my mind from childhood. my mom would teach me & my sister how to make christmas candy, something he has shared with my own children.  we used to go to the 11:00 candlelight christmas eve service, and often help set up the homemade luminaries that lined the sidewalks of our church.  i remember slipping under the covers of my parents' bed on christmas morning, giggling with my younger sister while my dad arranged flood lights and our super8 movie camera.  every year we would alternate who opened the first package, wrapped in a big black garbage bag (which, cleverly, was used to gather up all of the trash before it piled high in the living room). the entire family would walk our dog "popcorn", go have lunch at the farm with my grandparents and extended family, and return home to mess around with our newfound loot.

my mom always played music while we opened presents.  our dilapidated record player would keep spinning two albums in particular:  kenny rogers & dolly parton once upon a christmas and the oak ridge boys christmas (pretty creative title, guys).  these albums became iconic in our family.



i usually do musical things during the holidays.  i have regularly played the ellington/strayhorn nutcracker suite, showed up at the elementary schools and played sing-a-longs for the kiddos while talking about life as a musician, and annually drug my saxophone studio out into the community to play jazzy quartets while wearing santa hats. i used to play piano for my church, including a service where i put all of the christmas hymns in the key of D.  last year i recorded a tune for the isu president's e-card, and last week soloed with a handbell choir for their vespers show.

the wife and i have developed our own family traditions. we pin our family ornaments from the ceiling, pose for makeshift cmas photos, hang lights all over the place, write and edit and laugh at our family cmas letter, put up the nativity, and drive around the town in search of neighborhood light spectacles.  we still wad up the wrapping paper and chuck it at each other, make christmas candy together, start with the stockings and keep the christmas tunes cranked throughout the days on either side of the 25th.  our favorites include james brown funky christmas, johnny barstow a bowtie christmas, and we always kick it off with this tune by mr. sinatra.



playing those old bird licks or treating melodies like miles tips your hat to their legacies.  mixing up the hot fives with kurt rosenwinkel honors both time periods. understanding and acknowledging how the great ones did it is important, but creating your own practices and holding fast to them is truly seeking what the masters sought.

double d

being artistically landlocked in central iowa can be a tough road to travel for the creative few.  not only does the gigging scene continue to shrink, but many musical acts still believe that iowa is simply a state between here and the next hit.  we do have our share of cool annual events, but summer doesn't run year round.  my good friend abe is working hard to singlehandedly change the scene.  he curates his own jazz series, and somehow managed to finagle dave douglas as his big finale for the calendar year.

i have been a fan of dave for about 15 years, ranging back to when i first saw him play with his string band at the sanctuary in iowa city.  i shared the same stage with his quartet, flew 1800+ miles to hear him with masada, and sat front row for back-to-back sets at the walker.  i own a ton of his recordings too.  i dig him as a sideman with steve berseford, fred hersch, & uri caine, and moreso as a leader on stargazer, charms of the night sky, songs for wandering souls, and sanctuary.  he plays the trumpet the way i want to hear it, and makes me believe that chasing the ideas that are dancing inside my head is not only a worthy but realistic pursuit.  his unique approach has had a sizable impact on my own concept of sound and ideas.

dave played from the heart, as always, but turning 50 seems to have made him more outwardly appreciative and self-aware.  he spoke quite a bit, candidly sharing his gratitude for most everything that he is experiencing. writing, good musicians, the opportunity to tour, being able to make music, health.  it felt like a good vibes session, and the music was great.  he had matt mitchell on piano, whom i only know from his duets with ches smith; saxophonist jon irabagon, whom i have heard with mostly other people do the killing; young drummer anwar marshall, whose shenanigans reminded me of that one snl guy; and the gorgeous linda oh on bass, whose recent album is so great.

as expected, they played tunes from the new record.  they snuck in one of linda's tunes, and did a peerless version of "east of the sun, west of the moon", a required request from abe for each band.  lots of groups kinda mail that one in, but dave's quintet launched it to the moon.  they also did a handful of old hymns, and pumped new life into that often stodgy music.  i remember giving wild treatments to "what a friend we have in jesus" in my twin city days, playing with guys who now anchor arp of the covenant, pert near sandstone, sara bareilles, and trampled by turtles.

i rented an isu sled and hauled a handful of my students to the show.  i believe in dave's thing so much, and wanted my kids to know that there are more jazz acts out in our world aside from what they see on campus.  alex bought the last vinyl copy of dave's record, others snapped photos of the group, several talked to the performers afterwards, and all seemed excited to have gotten out of town with a concert road trip.  hearing them talk about the music afterwards was very intriguing, and made me wonder what i actually thought of some stuff back in my early twenties.  did i really get what joe henderson was up to?  could i even appreciate sun ra's arkestra?  what did i miss in joe williams's phrasing?  ah, life's cruel irony...

in a whirlwind week of rubbing shoulders with people who are dealing with divorce, sexual assault, depression, alcoholism, cyber bullying, major vehicle accidents, heart problems, and the loss of a family pet - life has been put in perspective for me.  every moment we are blessed to have is worth cherishing.  i am fortunate to be able to do what i do, and am thankful for it from the souls of my shoes.  i second dave's gracious sentiment, and appreciate him refilling my tank for the next stretch of this road.

too scared to sit down

i never do those surveys on facebook.  i can't tell if they are legit or shiny shells that house some kind of computer virus that blasts crass stuff all over my page.  plus, does anyone really care about how i fit into these social rubrics?  i'll break it down for you - my favorite color is blue, i've been to 47 states, i am a liberal, i like the abstract tree image, i am an introvert through and through, i haven't read enough books to register on the grid, and i stink at playing video games.

the movie list i saw (one of many, i understand) had me perplexed. most of the blockbusters are too much for my peabrain to manage.  i bet they're fun movies, but i can't get into them.  i like quirky films, films shot with high quality images at odd angles, films without too much dialogue or music, films that include me in the thinking process.  blues brothers, spinal tap, scarface, gone with the wind, pulp fiction, sound of music, it's a wonderful life - a big fat no to all of those.  many of my friends are aghast upon learning that i have never seen some seminal film from their list of favorites.

wanna know the ones i actually have seen? shawshank (it's always on tv), godfather (thanks jacob & kathy), the dark knight (imax, baby), the empire strikes back (at the strand with my dad), return of the jedi (still have a leia keyring), both lord of the rings movies (way too long), usual suspects (benicio!), raiders of the lost ark (if that's the one with the melting faces), forrest (and that ping pong scene), american history x (biting the curb), silence of the lambs (too spooky for me), and saving private ryan (after visiting the normandy coast).

i decided that this week away from the school grind was primed for me to get back on the movie train.  i curled up with some headphones, an ipad, and dialed up netflix.  i actually went to the theatre.  i watched some things from our free week of hbo.  i threw back ten movies, which is most certainly a career high for me.  i get nervous when i see how long a film is supposed to last, unexplainably scared to make a two hour commitment to anything.

i watched a good documentary on hip hop music with ice-t, featuring several of my old school heroes, and another one about the punch brothers.  i laughed with mike birbiglia, lost interest in bernie, and wasted my time on identity thief (but give it up for t.i.).  i was fascinated with the director's cut of ferris bueller, took the in-laws to we're the millers, and couldn't get fred armisen out of my head while watching behind the candelabra.

i loved the original concept in the movie safety not guaranteed.  the intoxicating april (from parks and rec) is the main character here, an intern out on a research assignment for a seattle magazine.  she & her cronies follow up on a classified ad, in search of a companion for time travel.  this offbeat puzzle is right up my alley. april is great, and the flow is digestible.

my favorite of the bunch, hands down, goes to the giant mechanical man.  it is slow going from the beginning, but real peculiar and captivating.  a street performer with hard opinions on our universe ultimately crosses paths with a lost soul.  they both get gigs working at the zoo, and their personal lives (away from the animals) shape them into polar opposites.  it's about believing in your art and finding a reason to live your life, which is an eternal struggle for me.  tell me i'm not walking alone...

tim berne has said that he watches movies for inspiration. i know, i know - none of these films are on that list, but the last two really resonate within me.  they have fed my soul, and will hopefully counter all of that pie i ate.